


Absolution

by madame_alexandra



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Abortion, Bespin, Difficult Decisions, Discussion of Abortion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_alexandra/pseuds/madame_alexandra
Summary: Leia contends with Bespin, and its aftermath. Told in 3 parts. [Story follows through to the end of Return of the Jedi].





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: i don't have a lot to say here, though i'm sure i'll be defending myself a lot by the next author's note.

_**Absolution  
Part 1/3** _

_**two months after Bespin.** _

* * *

Leia's nightmares about him were endless, _relentless;_ she woke violently, frequently, from the smoke-filled, blistering hot specter of Bespin, dizzy and blind and choking on her grief – and for a short time, that is what she attributed her unsettled stomach to – grief, stress, trauma.

She missed him, and she wanted him back so badly, and she felt so alone, and hollow, and _lost_.

It did not take her very long to discern that the nausea was not a product of the nightmares, not a physical after effect of waking up afraid and devastated, but a separate thing, stemming from its own root; being a relatively intelligent woman, she understood, in a terrible moment of clarity, what ailed her – more accurately, plagued her – and she felt only terror; she felt miniscule, drowning in an enormous world that sought to crush her.

She felt young, and scared, and stupid – and she felt robbed, and gutted, and abandoned, because the one person she could turn to when she needed bravery and strength was gone, beyond her reach, _frozen_ – and this would likely terrify him anyhow.

_Han_ , she thought, staring at herself in the tiny scrap of a mirror in her quarters, fixated on her own reflected gaze as she gingerly brushed her teeth, willing herself to keep the nothingness in her stomach down.

She spit the sour, rotten taste out of her mouth and rinsed and brushed again, struggling to feel clean and fresh – she only felt tired, and sore, and worried – and her stomach lurched as she straightened back up; she took a few deep breaths, her head spinning.

Leia ached to go back to bed, shut off the lights, hide, curl up under her Alliance issue blanket and see if sheer desperate _wishing_ could change this, make it go away –

She had appearances to keep up, though; she had a job to do, she always had a job to do, and for now, she prayed that would keep her going like it always had.

Alderaan obliterated? _– think about it later; there's work to do_. Falling in love – _don't you dare, ignore it, there's a war to fight._

She couldn't let her stamina come crashing to a halt now; she just needed some time to figure out what she was going to do – not _what_ ; how to do what she needed to do – and she was filled with dread as she braced herself day after day to act normal, comport herself with the grace and dignity they expected from her –

\- but that was so impossible to do when she kept having to take sick leave – and she had to, it wasn't a matter of feeling so-so, or being unwilling to face them, she was so sick sometimes it was impossible to move without flinging herself over a sink or a sani, and they were already watching her like a hawk, questioning her sanity – _Where were you and Han Solo for over a month?_ – they demanded answers about Lando – _Is he a traitor or not?_ – they wanted her evaluated, they wanted to help her focus herself –

She'd been seen in medical when they first arrived back at the rendezvous point, but everyone had been so focused on Luke, his missing appendage, and Leia had fought off medical attention _– I don't need it, no one touched me; no one hurt me_ – she insisted, cool and calm – _you can't give me an antibiotic that would cure the mental scars_ – they had made her watch them torture Han, but there was no tangible medical cute for injury to the soul.

Leia moved slowly this morning, keeping her lips pressed closed; periodically taking sips of cold water and holding mints under her tongue – _mint always settles the stomach_ , her mother had told her once, and Leia's eyes stung at thoughts of her; she wanted her mother, or any female, any woman to talk to who was closer than a mere friendly acquaintance.

She felt stuck, in a manner of speaking; she knew what was wrong with her, she knew she had to act, but she kept taking life day by day, compartmentalizing – she tried not to think about the personal diagnostic she'd run on herself two days ago; it only confirmed a feeling, anyway; and she silenced the voice of the human physician she'd spoken with after hours last night – _Yes_ , the woman said in a clipped, private tone _, I saw the indication on your charts; I thought you knew._

They took her blood when they treated her for shock, dehydration, and exhaustion after Bespin, and not a single medic, droid or flesh-and-blood, thought to pull her aside, and quietly tell her. She had to figure it out herself, day by day realization dawning, until the realization that she was getting sick, _and_ she wasn't bleeding hit her over the head like an asteroid.

Leia brushed at her hair, fastening her braids to her scalp, steadying her hands – _thought I knew?_ With such a tone of disapproval, too – _as if I planned this, invited this; it isn't fair, I was protected, it was protocol, this is your fault - !_

She drew the line at blaming others, though, and paused to stare at herself again in the mirror. She was so pale – so pale, and thin, which wasn't good, though it didn't matter; she wasn't concerned about her health, because there was only one way for this to go, and it didn't require good health on her part.

She put her hands on her neck and held on to herself for a moment – _go back to bed, tell them you're sick again –_ a little voice in her head pleaded with her, and she refused it, eyes on herself; she was going to have to face someone at some point – she was going to have to tell High Command at _some_ point.

It was only that – it was almost like – as long as she kept it to herself, and played her part, it wouldn't be true; it wouldn't be real.

* * *

She shouldn't have left her room; shouldn't have gone to the meeting – it was a vitally important discussion, that much was inarguable, but she forced her own hand. It was for the best, perhaps, but at the price of being humiliated - ?

Leia leaned against the sloping wall outside the grand conference room, her eyes closed lightly. She pressed both hands behind her into the cool metal, her head bowed forward tiredly. She swallowed slowly, very carefully, and squeezed her eyes closed, and then she took a deep breath, and reopened them hesitantly.

She lifted her head a little, wary of moving too quickly. Her vision swam threateningly, dizzily, and she carefully tilted her head back until it rested gently against the wall. The chill of the metal on the back of her neck was only the barest of comforts, but she reveled in it. She wished she'd thought to bring some of her mints – and her mouth watered, in that way that was metallic and miserable.

She _should_ have bowed out of the briefing – but again, how could she? There was no way to keep up a charade if she wasn't present to act in it; absenting herself from this briefing would make it the third one she'd missed this week, and that would cause too much concern, too much attention. She'd be scrutinized and fawned over, and she wanted to be left alone, to think, and to cope, so she could confront this firmly.

She stared upwards, her lips forming a solitary word – _Han_.

She didn't know if he would make this any better, any easier, if he were here; she didn't know how he would react at all, and that almost killed her. She had felt so close to him, so like she was a part of him, and he a part of her, and something like this, hanging over her head, drove home the point that a month of intimacy was nothing, a miniscule second in the grand scheme of time, and she wondered if they really knew each other at all.

Leia clutched her ribs, digging her thumb into her side tightly, wincing. Her mouth was slick and watery, and she clinched her teeth tightly.

"Princess?"

The word was soft, concerned, and Leia blinked, her throat tightening. She was afraid to move her head for a moment; she still felt like vomiting. She drew in a slow breath and set her shoulders back, lowering her head to face the voice.

Mon Mothma's calm, grey eyes stared back at her, and General Rieekan was at her side. His arms were folded across his chest, one hand pressed flat against his shoulder, and he looked grim, though not in a disapproving way – grim like he dreaded the coming conversation.

"Are you feeling alright?" Mon Mothma asked gently.

It was a courtesy question, polite; she knew damn well Leia was ill, it was obvious from her countenance, the way she held herself, her absences of late, and the way she'd excused herself from the meeting.

Leia compressed her lips tightly. She lifted her shoulders in a silent shrug – there was no point in lying, or lip service; it was so clear that she wasn't feeling well.

"I think I should have taken the morning," Leia said neutrally, her voice straned.

She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. When she stuck out her hand instinctively to steady her balance, Rieekan reached out and took her elbow gently, tilting his head with a small frown. He glanced at Mon Mothma for a split second.

"That would be your third half day of leave this week," Mon Mothma said reflectively. She did not add that Leia had been late several additional mornings; she didn't need to. She tilted her head studiously. "I think you ought to be seen in the Medical bay," the Alliance commander said calmly. "Carlist, will you escort her?"

Rieekan nodded – he knew she'd already been seen by medical, when she and Luke returned from Bespin without Han, with a traitor, and with multiple injuries and fried droids to tend to; there was obviously something more deeply embedded bothering her – Rieekan could only imagine; the stress of the past months since the Hoth evacuation, the shock of losing Han Solo – he knew she cared for him deeply, whether she admitted it to herself or not.

Leia took a step forward shakily.

"And Leia," Mon Mothma said, her expression unreadable. "I'd like to see you in my office, when you're feeling up to it," she told her mildly. "Today." The last word was an order, though cloaked in polite kindness.

Leia did not meet the other woman's eyes - she looked past her, and nodded, her hand pressing anxiously into her ribs; her stomach twisted queasily.

Mon Mothma turned, and began to glide away, and Leia leaned back. She bolted forward sharply.

"Carlist," she said weakly – she covered her mouth tightly.

He looked around him desperately for something to give her, came up short, and decided to pull her quickly into the conference room they'd just emerged from. Jan Dodonna was still in there, gathering up a couple of classified datapads.

He looked surprised to see Rieekan return, and even more surprised to see Leia, but that was nothing compared to how startled he was when she flung Rieekan's arm away from her and turned towards the wall, ultimately losing her battle with this bout of nausea. She didn't have enough in her stomach to make a real mess, but having an audience and no sani was enough to make her sick a second time.

"Princess!" Dodonna exclaimed – she heard the alarm in his tone, but her nose and eyes burned, and she found herself coughing painfully, so she did not hear what Rieekan said in response to Jan's outburst.

She felt him put his hand on the back of her shoulder, keeping a respectful distance. Her shoulders trembled, and Dodonna caught his bearings, venturing over to help.

Leia side-stepped the mess and slumped against the wall, pressing her forehead into it, her back to them. She _should_ have taken the morning – it would have been better than this; their speculating about what was wrong with her would be better than them witnessing this. She knew she'd have to speak with Mon Mothma eventually – she'd only wanted to set her head straight first; she was still embroiled in panic, instead of composure.

"Leia?" Rieekan asked quietly.

She took a deep breath, and stepped back, shaking her head.

"I don't need to go to Medical," she said hoarsely. "I'll speak with Mon now."

Rieekan nodded, his hand warm on her shoulder.

"I'll go with you," he began, but she only shook her head again.

"No," she said quietly.

Rieekan hesitated, and then squeezed he shoulder very lightly, moving away to give her space.

Leia set her shoulders back, murmuring a diplomatic apology to Dodonna – and he merely looked at her warily, as if he felt trapped in a different universe; she heard Rieekan calling for a custodial droid, and she tried to craft sentences in her head, plan, script how this conversation was going to go.

Leaving the room, she heard their gruff exchange –

"What was that about?" Dodonna asked heavily, and Leia paused, her head tilted just slightly, waiting to hear Rieekan's response - s he knew him well enough that she could imagine him rubbing his jaw, shifting his weight stiffly, as he answered –

"I – I don't know, Jan," he muttered. He sighed. "I think Mon's right."

Leia found herself leaning against the wall like she had moments ago, when Mon had ordered her to her office in the first place, and she felt winded, all of the breath knocked out of her; was it that transparent – did they _all_ know? Leia crossed her arms across her abdomen and bowed forward, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was punishment; retribution – divine karma, for thinking she could be happy after all the death she'd seen, and been responsible for; one month of bliss traded for blood, on her hands, as always.

* * *

Mon Mothma's office was impersonal, but that was to be expected; bases were transient locations, and there was little time to decorate, or feel at home. Their particular location now was so scattered and uncertain – most of the leadership convened on this dilapidated, hijacked Mon Calamari cruiser, hidden near Sullust, the rank and file scattered, scrambling _still_ to recover from Hoth –

She asked Leia to sit in a chair in front of her desk, and then, in an effort to appear congenial – an effort that did nothing to soothe Leia, or fool her, she sat on the edge of her desk, facing Leia, one leg crossed neatly over the other.

"You are sure you don't want to spend a moment with a physician?" she asked.

Leia shook her head slowly.

"You're feeling better?"

Leia said nothing.

Mon Mothma took that as a signal to dispense with the small talk. She sighed, her shoulders slouching for a moment, rubbed her forehead, and lifted her chin.

"Leia, we need to have a conversation," she said.

She was grim, and she dropped Leia's title as she often did when they spoke privately. It was a tactic that was less – amicable and friendly, and more of a subtle reminder that Mon had known Leia since she was a child, had known her father – and it struck Leia with a rush of shame that she stubbornly tried to abolish.

"Yes," Leia agreed simply.

Mon Mothma picked up a slim datapad and tapped her finger on it, clearing her throat.

"I want to give you the chance to tell your own story," she said quietly.

Leia felt small again, tinier than she'd ever felt – and she'd stood in front of Emperors, Sith Lords, and Kings.

That sense of shame flared in her again, but so, too, did a rush of anger at Mon Mothma's faux gentility – _you think you're doing me a favor, Mon?_ Leia grit her teeth – _well tell me this; how can you possibly already know?_

She had no confidants, she'd made no references to any personal relationships she may or may not have had – Mon Mothma was smart; the High Command was stocked with unnaturally intelligent people, and yet a few half-day absences, some late mornings – it never should have resulted in this assumption, necessarily, not when Leia was, for all public appearances, completely unattached, and even assumed to be _celibate_ –

"Why do I get the feeling you already know?" Leia asked, her tone clipped, full of steel.

Mon Mothma looked up from her datapad, holding it on her knees bracingly.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked bluntly.

Leia exhaled quietly; it was like a hit directly to the gut, drawing strength out of her – it was a hard, damning word, somehow, one she'd been careful not to say out loud: _pregnant_ ; so many rough consonants, and every one of them falling on her ears like a condemnation.

Still, she took care not to flinch; she made her face blank.

"Yes."

Her answer was flat, and admission to herself, a confession to her supervisor – and the two women looked at each other for a long stretch of silence, while Leia's head and heart pounded with – barely controlled anxiety, and fear, and grief, still, the ever-present grief.

_Han. Han, Han, Han -!_

"How long have you been aware?" Mon Mothma asked quietly.

"I could ask you the same," Leia said sharply. She narrowed her eyes at the datapad in Mon Mothma's lap, and Mon's fingers curled around the edges of it.

"I was given your medical report immediately," she answered honestly. "Our head physician alerted me."

Leia's blood burned, and seethed. She sat forward, her expression dark – violated; angry.

"That is _private_ ," she hissed, metered rage. "You had no right."

"I had every right," Mon Mothma said, neutral, and calm. "You know I did; you agreed to it. You ratified the same standard operating procedures that I did specific to High Command: _any medical ailment, mental or physical, that impedes a leader's ability to serve must be disclosed to members of the council with haste_. Medical notified me immediately."

She struggled with the immature desire to protest – _but not when it's my medical ailment!_ Her face flushed, and she grit her teeth.

"This is different," she said flatly. "You think it will impede my ability to serve – "

"Am I to understand you _don't_?" Mon interrupted, her tone takin on a coarse edge.

She looked at Leia with quiet disbelief, and anger – and disappointment. Leia's lips moved soundlessly, an she bit back her words, her hands shaking. She twisted them together in her lap.

"I waited for you to bring this to me," Mon said, softening her tone again.

"I wasn't told," Leia snapped. "I had no reason to suspect, until – well I didn't – I was blindsided myself!"

Her words started to break down, and she bit her tongue, holding back again. Had she ever sounded so stupid and inexperienced in her life? She didn't think so – no; she was trained better than this, she was pure skill and efficiency and grace – except perhaps with Han.

Mon Mothma seemed to hesitate.

"I don't want to – disturb you, Leia, but, considering your conflict with Imperials on Bespin," she said. "Were you raped?"

Leia reared back, as if she'd been slapped, her face flushing. Her neck felt hot, and she narrowed her eyes, grinding her teeth, jaw setting.

" _No_ ," she retorted emphatically.

She leaned to the side, rubbing her temple. She shook her head.

"No," she said, even softer.

"Were you taken advantage of?" Mon Mothma pressed.

Leia straightened up, her eyes hardening coldly.

"If you want to ask who I've been _fucking_ , Mon, then do it," she said flatly. "I'm more than capable of making a sexual decision without it being by force."

Mon Mothma gave her a pinched look, but inclined her head.

"I want to understand what happened between Hoth, and here, that put you in this position."

Leia licked her lips. She turned her head to the side, touching her bottom lip with her thumb.

"Han," she said tiredly. "It's Han. I've been with Han."

"Han Solo did this?"

Leia closed her eyes heavily – why did she have to make it sound like a crime, a criminal act? _I fell in love, I can't help it, I'm a woman – I'm not a machine._

She turned her head, and said dryly –

"I do not think it was his explicit intention."

Mon Mothma sighed, and there was something like sympathy on her face, something like – an attempt at understanding, and sadness even, and she shook her head.

"Leia, how could you be so reckless?" she asked.

Leia's heart nearly stopped.

"Reckless?" she gasped. She sat forward stiffly, pressing a hand to her ribs. " _Reckless_ – Mon, I abide by the same protocols as every other woman in this militia, I had a hormonal implant that I didn't even need – until I _did_ , until I relied on it to do its job, and it _failed_ ," she shook her head, her eyes stinging, "it didn't _work_ , Mon – so who has failed _me_?"

Mon Mothma bowed her head, and Leia wondered if she was rolling her eyes, thinking, _well, you ought to have stayed chaste, Leia, we needed your virginity for a treaty, anyway._

Leia stood up, crossing her arms over herself. She paced the office, swallowing hard a few times, and regained herself – she had no interest in accusations, excuses; there was only action to be taken – as much as it felt like physical torture to have this conversation, she could breathe a little easier, because she was unstuck – she had to go forward, now.

Behind her, she heard Mon Mothma sigh again, and move around. When Leia turned, the other woman was standing behind her desk, her palms flat, shuffling among holo-Maps, flimsy data read-outs. She put a hand to her head.

"There isn't a lot of recourse for us," she said.

Leia stood before the desk, watching her silently.

Mon Mothma placed her fingertip on a map.

"I think the best option is to send you into the safe house network," she murmured. "Vader knows you weren't killed on Bespin, so it won't be the best sort of hiding – though we could engender rumors that you've been killed," she paused. "You aren't required to tell anyone."

Listening, Leia stepped forward a bit, the words sinking in – word by word, they hit her skin, and she was confused, and then taken aback, and she opened her mouth, asking –

"What are you talking about?"

Mon looked up, matter-of-fact.

"This puts you out of commission, Leia. I don't care what you think," she said sharply. "You can't fight. I have no idea what you might do when you come to term, though I'm sure you do not turn your nose up at adoption – "

"Mon," Leia cut in quietly, a strange expression on her face. "I'm not going to have it."

She said it with such surety, surety she wasn't even sure she felt - but with disbelief, too, that Mon would entertain the idea, that she would assume, that in the midst of all this, Leia's obvious course of action would be to – with a civil war raging, and Han perhaps lost forever, and no home, no family, no friends – when she was one of the Empire's most wanted, and setting foot in civilized systems without a disguise guaranteed bounty hunters descended on her?

She stared at her counterpart, and Mon looked at a loss for a moment.

She cleared her throat, and then sat down gingerly, folding her arms.

"I thought," she began delicately, "with Alderaan's – customs," she hesitated.

Leia tightened her jaw, and shook her head.

It didn't matter what Alderaan's customs were. Alderaan was dust and debris, and Leia had nothing, and no one, to rely on. She felt drained, and she felt uncertain, but none of that mattered – on top of everything else, she couldn't do it, she wasn't ready, there was no – there was no real choice here.

Mon Mothma put her hands to her face and massaged her temples, thinking.

"Well," she began, pushing aside some things on her desk. She steepled her fingers together, and pointed. "Sit down, Leia."

Leia sat – tensely, on the edge of the chair.

"You're talking about a procedure we're not fully equipped to perform," Mon Mothma said carefully. "We put our facilities together on scraps as it is. The medical bay is focused on trauma. War injuries – "

"I know," Leia said flatly.

"It won't be chemical," Mon said. "I don't think we are stocked in the pills."

Leia gave her a cold look.

"That seems incredibly stupid," she remarked mildly. "You're running a co-ed intergalactic insurgency and you don't think accidents happen?"

"The hormonal implant requirement precludes accidents," Mon said quietly.

Leia gestured to herself, without a word; nothing else needed to be said.

She turned her head and shrugged jerkily, as if trying to silently throw off her fear, and her worry, and the hundred other emotions that were vying for dominance inside of her.

"I don't have any other option," Leia said curtly.

Mon said nothing to her. She was quiet for a long time, and then she pulled a datapad towards her.

"I'll schedule you personally," she said.

Leia turned to look at her, and she noticed Mon looked pale, suddenly – exhausted, and worn. Leia was irritated by that, for some reason; as if Mon had no right to feel put upon when this was just a personnel hiccup to her, but to Leia, to _Leia_ it was –

"You'll at least a week of recovery, light duty only – if any duty at all," she murmured, concise, controlled. "You'll also have to undergo a new medical clearance for service."

Leia listened, betraying no emotion.

Mon Mothma set her file aside, and leaned forward, resting on her arms heavily.

"And I'll order a demotion," she said.

Leia blinked – she was startled, and then a part of her was not startled, and that grim, sneaking sense of shame bit at her once more, though again, she shoved it down, tried to stamp it out. She felt targeted, and a sharp stab of pain cut through her – she couldn't lose her distraction, she couldn't lose her work, not when she'd lost Han, and everything else –

"Why?" she asked coldly.

"You won't lose your place on the High Command," Mon said calmly. "You'll receive a reduction in rank on the military side."

Leia's eyes still asked the same question, and Mon was cool in her answer –

"Your priorities have not been appropriately placed since your return from Bespin."

Leia grit her teeth so hard she was afraid they would crack, and she felt as if she would start screaming, or burst into tears – the accusation was so shallow, such a thinly veiled attempt to punish her for daring to act selfishly, and emotionally, instead of like the unwavering martyr they wanted her to be for the cause – _of course I am shaken, my best friend is maimed, Han is gone_ – _they ripped my heart from my chest and left a gaping, bleeding wound, and I have to have my mistake, the physical reminder, scraped out of me -_

The soldier in her took over, and she stood, with only a short nod.

"I understand," she said coolly.

"The High Command will be informed of the issue, Leia," Mon Mothma warned.

"Fine."

Mon Mothma looked up and met her eyes. She parted her lips in hesitation, pausing to think – and she bit her lip.

"I promised your father I'd look after you," she said.

Leia gave a hard shrug.

"You didn't have anything to do with this."

_Save it, Mon – you have no idea what this is like._

"You may go," Mon Mothma said gently.

Leia inclined her head, departing the room.

She found the nearest 'fresher, and ducked into it, locking the door tightly behind her. She gripped the edges of a sink, and waited, her head spinning, until she was sick, her throat, nose, and eyes burning again, and this time, she thought, the nausea was a byproduct of the stress she was under.

She sank to the floor and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, tucking her head down into her knees – and she tried not to cry, and she struggled to find a way to detach herself.

* * *

The sterile environment of the medical bay made her feel raw and vulnerable, and for what felt like the hundredth time, Leia felt impossibly small in the bed. Tucked behind a curtain, IV in her arm, she leaned back against the smooth metal headboard, avoiding looking at Luke beside her.

She could have kept it from him, but in the end he was the only person around here who meant something to her on a personal level, and her loneliness got the best of her. He wasn't a woman, so there would be an undeniable gap of camaraderie, but he was her friend, and above all else, Luke was kind, and understanding.

He picked at frayed strings on the knit blanket near her feet, the movement of his false hand still new to him, and hard to manage.

He hadn't reacted much at all; his brows just knit with concern, overwhelmed confusion – _I'm not sick, Luke; I got pregnant_ – he just looked at her worriedly, listening; _Oh. Leia, what does that…what are you going to do?_ – Leia swallowed thickly, and he was the first person she said it out loud to – _Have an abortion_ – Mon Mothma had told the council, and authorized the procedure, but Leia told Luke, and he sat with her, his hand near hers – _Okay,_ he murmured. _Are you alright?_

He twisted one of his prosthetic fingers around a thread and broke it, examining it.

"So," he said, looking up. He put his chin in his palm. "You and Han?"

Leia drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. She was careful about the IV in her arm – only fluids, and pre-emptive antibiotics. She rested her cheek on her knee, facing Luke, and nodded wordlessly.

When she closed her eyes, tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I only just got used to loving him," she whispered.

She had forgotten, in the blur of weeks since the return from Bespin, that Luke had been none the wiser about her evolved relationship with Han; he'd been elsewhere, his head buried in caves, and swamps, and ancient Jedi lore.

He seemed to take it well, considering she'd always known him to be interested in her – or perhaps she had been mistaken, and arrogantly taken friendship for romantic inclinations.

"Well, the rest of us were getting kind of tired of it," Luke quipped, offering a little smile – like he hoped he might make her feel a little better, but didn't want to make light of her.

Leia wiped at her face swiftly, returning the smile.

"You know Fett will take him to Jabba for the bounty," Luke said slowly. "We'll keep an ear to the ground to find out what Jabba does to him, and we'll go from there. He was alive, Leia," he reminded her.

Leia said nothing – she was afraid Jabba would kill him, she was afraid she'd never see him again – and she wanted to see him again, so badly. She missed his scent, his voice, the warmth of his skin against hers, the sound of his heart, the way he breathed when he was asleep –

Luke reached out and touched her shoulder gently, and the warmth of his fingertips through her thin gown told her it was his real hand. He held the other in his lap, his blue eyes searching hers.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked – without judgment, but with very real concern. His voice wavered a little.

She looked at him for a long time.

"I don't know," she said hoarsely. "It is what I am _going_ to do."

That she said with conviction, but until Luke asked her, she had never admitted that she had doubts, that her first thought in the back of her heart, in the bottom of her soul, was not that she wanted to do this – she thought, _but I love Han, and I might want this – I never thought I'd have this._

She was so cared though, and so unprepared, and the idea was ludicrous; she wanted the idea, maybe, in the abstract – she licked her lips, and shrugged at Luke.

"What else is there?" she asked, half-rhetorical.

Luke looked helpless.

"We're trying to find Han," he said. "You don't want to give up on that, do you?"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes.

"You might get him back, and he…Han's a good man," Luke said, faltering.

Leia compressed her lips, and shook her head.

"I know he's good," she said shakily.

She tilted her head up to the ceiling.

"Luke, I can't handle this," she admitted.

He nodded.

It was all too much – there were too many factors, too many uncertainties; Mon Mothma illustrated how insane a concept it was to try and hide, and what bothered Leia more was – she didn't want to _be_ alone, she didn't want to _do_ this alone. In all her life, when she thought about children – and in recent years, she hadn't even known if she would ever want them – she had never envisioned it like this.

Han could end up dead, lost forever – she feared the heartbreak she'd suffer, if she lost him, and her work, lost her place with the Rebellion, and thus was hidden with only a singular reminder of Han relying on her and needing protection; that she didn't think she could do – but even more, she feared finding Han, having him back, and presenting him with an irreversible truth – their relationship was so fresh, so new, when he was ripped away from her, and if she – if he came back and she – it would be a shock, perhaps even a trap, and it just wasn't how she wanted her relationship to go –

"I couldn't do that to Han," she said.

Those words, though, engendered more guilt, more stress – what if he hated her for this? What if he thought she'd made a choice for him, stolen something - she had _no_ idea where Han's head would be if he were here.

She could barely get a handle on herself, barely control her grief over losing him; there was no healthy way for her to take on the responsibility of –

"I can't have a baby, Luke," she said hoarsely.

Luke nodded again.

"It's dangerous," he said. "I get it, Leia. I understand."

She wasn't sure he did, if only because he'd never be able to empathize, really put himself in her shoes, and she kept catching herself desperately wishing Han was here, but that desire conflicted with a simultaneous dread of what Han would think about this, what he would want, how he would process it –

That was the ultimate, painful truth, though, the core of her storm of emotions: she was _alone_ , entirely alone; it was _all_ on her – the choice, the strain, the aftermath, any possible fallout.

"I don't know what to say to make you feel better," Luke ventured finally, an earnest look on his face.

"There isn't anything," she said quietly. "It's okay."

Luke took a deep breath.

"For what it's worth, I think Han really loves you, Leia," he said quietly. "I know he kind of, um, isn't eloquent about it, but I think he does. Love you."

Leia couldn't quite put into words how much she appreciated the use of present tense – and unexpectedly, a soft smile touched her lips, painful as it was to smile, and she said, hoarsely –

"I know."

Luke turned his head at a movement behind him, glancing back at Leia warily as a physician moved around the stiff metal curtain. The human doctor only stood there, gravely, her eyes on Leia, and Luke cleared his throat, standing up, put keeping his hand on Leia's shoulder.

"Do you," he started, awkward, and uncertain if it was even appropriate to offer, "want me to stay with you?"

Leia thought about it a moment, her throat locking up – she was touched at the offer, but knowing what the procedure entailed – violated, invaded, laid bare – she shook her head abruptly, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"No," she said hoarsely. "I want to be alone."

Luke nodded, and on a whim, bent over to kiss the top of her head. He left slowly, with a last wary look at the physician. Leia loosened her grip on her legs and eased them down a little, her hands falling into her lap.

The physician started to speak – _mild, local anesthetic, we'll make it as comfortable as possible – are you aware of potential complications, side effects_ \- -Leia listened, her hand pressed absently to her abdomen, and she steadied herself by breathing slowly, focusing on logic, duty.

There was a part of her that hurt, and ached – _Han, I really need you; Han, what should I do_ – and a part of her that was restless for this to be over – _get rid of it, get it over with, I can't think straight, I feel so sick and powerless –_

* * *

When she opened the door to her quarters, and found General Rieekan standing there, she saw the shock on his face, and it gave her some amusement, a flicker of laughter – for she realized he had likely never seen her dressed so casually.

She had assumed it would be Luke, and so she didn't bother to change quickly; clearly, she was wrong. Standing there in cotton shorts, loose around the waist, and an Alliance-issue undershirt with their emblem on the right shoulder, she hesitated, and then nodded her head, stepping back.

"Carlist," she murmured.

"I don't want to disturb you," Rieekan said swiftly.

"Come in," she said, her only answer.

Her hair was twisted in a loose braid, and knotted at the back of her neck. He looked about the small quarters she had been assigned, and noticed a personal datapad on her desk, along with masses of official work, battle plans, attack proposals –

She shut the door behind him, and crossed her arms across herself – fortifying her stance, and protective her personal space.

He noticed she still looked pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Carlist turned to her, his uniform cap tucked under his arm. He cleared his throat, standing with his feet apart, and considered her hesitantly.

"Mon told me you are set to return to work tomorrow," he said gruffly.

Leia nodded.

"I came by to ask if you need more time," he said bluntly.

Her face did not change for a moment. She looked at him without blinking, and then turned, striding over to her bunk and sitting down on the edge of it, her back straight. She hadn't been sleeping well, and that was nothing new to her, but the only way she knew how to recover from heartache – to survive, through heartache – was to throw herself into some project, some fight, something meaningful, and every day of rest, and recuperation, was worsening her outlook, and deepening her fears, and her stress.

"Time will not do me any good," she answered levelly.

She cleared her throat.

"I'm fine, Carlist," she lied.

Ah – it wasn't too much of a lie. She was handling herself, she was surviving. Physically, she was hurting; she felt raw, and sore, and drained – emotionally hollow, all the time.

There was restlessness in her, though; she needed to move, she needed to do something – anything to alleviate dwelling on what she'd done, on a weight that was somehow lifted from, and at the same time heavy on, her shoulders.

He took a few steps forward, and placed his hand on the back of her desk chair. Thoughtfully, he pulled it out, and sat down on it, setting his cap aside. He leaned forward slowly, lifting his head to look her in the eye. He felt a lot of sorrow for her, and purely sympathetic sorrow, nothing that resembled pity, which was what he felt some of the others directed at her, and certainly not wariness, or disappointment.

He knew there was nothing really he could have done; things just happened, things like this especially, but he wanted to be there for her, if she'd let him; if it was appropriate. He still wasn't sure he'd recovered from the absurd shock he'd felt when he mentioned that he was worried about Leia's state of mind, when she was so out of sorts and withdrawn those weeks after Bespin, and Mon Mothma had said to him, quite coolly – _That girl is pregnant, Carlist, and I can't imagine what we're going to do about it._

_Pregnant?_ \- he'd thought – _what the_ \- ? It hadn't been a leap of the imagination, though, and then he'd felt a strange sense of relief for her, knowing she must have finally let herself feel this obvious thing there was between herself and Captain Solo – and his heart sank, heavy, to fully realize how much it must have gutted her to come back without him, and then this –

"Princess Leia," he said quietly. "When you joined the Rebellion, I swore to your father that I would keep you safe," he said.

Leia gave him a placid, almost patronizing look, as Mon Mothma's words echoed in her head – her father was so frequently mentioned to her, and she wondered if they tried to imply he would be ashamed, angry – well; she had no idea what her father would think of his, she only had thoughts for her mother, in these aftermath days.

"That hasn't changed," Rieekan said, enunciating very carefully.

He paused, and lifted his brows slightly.

"I do not care if High Command has seen fit to demote you," he said firmly. "I've told them blatantly I disagree with the decision."

Leia looked at him a little more clearly. She pulled her hands into her lap, and pressed them together, some of her tension easing – she wasn't sure what she had been expecting; Rieekan had always been a kind man, a fair, and understanding man, but she was sure she'd shocked him as much as the others, though he kept his distance, and showed concern.

She lifted her shoulders.

"It's done," she said simply.

_Lieutenant_ , she thought bitterly.

Rieekan nodded heavily.

"I think you've shown incredible strength," he told her bluntly.

Leia turned her head away. She bit the inside of her lip, trying to keep herself steady – she'd felt so alienated, and so _excommunicated_ , from the leadership, and his words meant more to her than she thought they would.

Her insecurities welled up in her, burning, and hurting.

"I don't feel strong," she said hoarsely, the words tumbling from her mouth in a guilty, difficult confession. "I feel, I feel," she said in a hushed tone. She put her hand towards her chest, curling her fingers in. "Empty."

"You must," Rieekan agreed honestly. "I know you must – and I'm sorry, Princess," he said sincerely. His voice quieted, an intent whisper: "I'm so sorry you went through this."

She nodded, and reached up to touch her eyes with both hands, pressing her fingertips against lightly closed eyelids.

She was sorry, too – an already devastating event was so poisoned. She felt like all of her good memories of Han were tainted; she felt suffocated by the weight of losing him, and having to handle the mess they made, and she felt relieved that she was past it, that she could consume herself with some other focus – kill the Empire, save him –

She told herself she never had to think about this again – she was free of it unless she was able to have Han back – _until,_ she tried to tell herself, _free of it until_ , - Lando's promises haunted her at night, lacing in and out of nightmares in which she reached for Han and he stared back at her, cemented in time – _We'll find Han, Princess._

Then – tell him what?

_What would he think?_

She tried not to agonize over that because none of this, none of the brutality and heartache of this experience had changed her mind about him – she still wanted him back so badly, she didn't want to give up, on him, or on the fight – this was another sacrifice, another rough, miserable decision – casualty of war.

"I did what I had to," Leia said quietly.

She looked at Rieekan searchingly – _I did, didn't I?_ She had so few people to talk to, so few avenues of support; her friendships were professional relationships, diplomatic and polite, and like a teenager, she found herself seeking approval – _I don't need approval; there was nothing else to do._

Still, she gazed at General Rieekan.

He nodded, simply nodded.

Her eyes filled with tears, her face paling.

"I love him," she said, almost defensively. "I wasn't – I wasn't just," she broke off. She pointed both of her hands inward, at her stomach. "I _love_ Han," she said hoarsely – that's what made it so much worse, the emotional attachment - she kept going back to Mon Mothma's crude inquiry, almost hopeful, like she hoped Leia hadn't been taken in by a smuggler – _Were you raped?_ – _No, Mon, because if I had been, this would have been easy._

Rieekan blinked at her calmly.

"I do not look at you differently regardless," he said matter-of-factly.

Regardless of whether it was love, or a drunken indiscretion, a fling – he didn't care, and he didn't demand to know the details; the only concerns he had couldn't be answered while Han Solo was captive elsewhere – all he wanted to know, all Rieekan wanted to know, was if Leia needed anything, needed any help, and beyond that, if Han knew how much this woman hurt for him, how much she bled for them all; did he know how much her love was worth?

"It will be alright, Princess," he soothed quietly – it was almost an order, like he could force her to believe it, will her to have the confidence in it.

Leia brushed wisps of hair from her face, pushing her wrist against her cheeks to dry them.

"I don't need more time, Carlist," she said finally, taking a deep breath. "I have to put this behind me."

_And I have to believe Han is there, somewhere, in front of me – I have to._

General Rieekan cleared his throat and stood, picking up his cap. He tucked it back under his arm.

"I saw to it that you fall in my line of command," he said gruffly. He grit his teeth, finding the next words distasteful: "Directly, you'll report to Crix Madine."

Leia smiled grimly – they had ranked her too low to report directly to Rieekan, and he was angry about it, she could tell by the tight pull of his jaw when he delivered her assignment. She nodded - -she would work as efficiently for Madine as she would work for anyone; any command now would be the same – there had been rumors about her absence, and her time in medical, already, and any cadre of troops would look at her with both intimidated eyes, and curious eyes.

He took a few steps back, inclining his head respectfully as he turned to go, and Leia watched him, remaining still until he was gone. She looked at her feet for a long time, bare, ankle resting against ankle, and then she got up, hugging herself, and moved slowly over to her desk, tapping lightly on her personal datapad.

Private transmission from Chewbacca – _infiltration might work; there is too much risk in acting without a plan._

She felt like those words cut her to the core, meant something more to her, and she sat heavily down in the chair, pulling her arm tight around her middle, almost painfully tightly.

She laid her head down on the desk, supported on her arm, and turned her face into the crook of her elbow to cry, only a little, only softly, before she got up to steel herself, and to move on.

* * *

_**Part 1/3** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: thanks for your feedback! just a quick note - i don't use Disney canon in my characterization of Leia, at all. even when I write in the TFA framework, i ignore the TFA notion that Han was an absent father / Leia was too busy to parent Ben, etc. my Leia is the Lucas/Lucasfilm Leia - the one who, until the very end of one of the EU novels, did not want children specifically because of the Vader issue.
> 
> *also, there is a small tweak here: Luke doesn't go to Dagobah right away. He docks with the fleet, returns to Dagobah for a few days, and then comes back.

_**Absolution** _   
_**Part 2/3** _

_**6 months after Bespin / 4 months after abortion** _

* * *

Leia could hardly fathom her own feelings when she had him back in her arms, when she could touch his living flesh and brush her fingers through his tangled hair – he was far from unscathed; the wounds he received on Bespin were fresh, and his blindness, his disorientation, was enraging and debilitating him, but she had him – and after all of the nightmares, all of the days of wondering, all the nights struggling not to lose hope, after they fought out of the palace and through the sandstorm and were on their way, hurtling through hyperspace – that _she had him back_ , it was a relief so powerful that she was choking on oxygen even though she could finally felt like she could breathe.

She had never believed their paltry plan would work, and damned if Luke hadn't managed to think on his feet, effortlessly hold it all together when things shattered and started to go awry; she'd thank him later for his commitment, his power, and his success – everything he had done to be there for her today, and for the past few months – so that she could have this.

Han struggled to grasp his reality; still reeling from the adrenaline of the escape, he had barely started to settle before he was antagonized all over again by the knowledge that it had been six months, six long, unfathomable months – he kept asking, frantically, angrily; _what happened, what did I miss – what the hell is going on?_

The only thing she could do for him was be there, rest her hands on him, lock herself in his bunk with him and be an anchor – _Han, it's me; what do you remember?_

His memory was fine, that much was certain; he was just all jammed together; he thought he was waking up to the world mere seconds later, yet everything was different.

"Leia," he kept saying, straining to see her.

She felt invigorated every time he said her name –it always sounded so good on his lips, personalized, private – every time he asked for her, addressed her, she stopped what she was doing with the antiseptic on his injuries and kissed his shoulder, his neck, behind his hear, the corner of his mouth.

"I'm here, Han," she assured him.

He grasped at her waist lightly, his hands roaming over her skin. She felt warmer than she should, he felt her flinch away from the grasp, and eased his touch - -he'd spent enough time on Tatooine to recognize sunburn, even without his full eyesight.

She had changed clothes; he'd heard her, heard heavy metal hit the floor.

"What were you wearing?" he asked harshly, demanded. "Leia," he gasped.

She murmured in his ear, kneeling next to him, pressing close to his side, shushing him.

"It doesn't matter," she soothed.

His hand slid up to her neck, feeling, his sense of touch bolstered by his lack of eyesight - he heard her intake of breath when his knuckles brushed the raw, scraped skin around her throat, and he clenched his teeth, panic and nausea rising in his chest.

" _No_ ," he growled, roughly – and Leia's heart skipped. "He didn't put you in one of those things," Han said aloud, almost to himself – outraged, and Leia said nothing, slipping her arm around him to hold him steady, pressing a light touch full of cotton swab and antiseptic to another burn mark on his chest.

"Leia," Han moaned, leaning over to rest his head on her shoulder – he said her name like he was begging her to correct him, like an apology, guilty, horrified, and she paused to kiss his temple, shaking her head.

"Nothing happened," she whispered calmly. "No one touched me."

He turned and slid his arms around her middle, one of his hands flattening against her stomach, and Leia almost jerked away, her eyes widening. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she tensed for a moment, before recognizing the action as just nothing more than Han's need to hold her close. She relaxed, letting him pull on her, and he seemed to melt against her.

Leia put aside her first aid kit, pushing it off the bunk, and she turned her full attention to him as a whole, not merely his wounds. She slid her hand down to her stomach and pushed her fingers into his, interlocking them, moving his palm away – it jolted her so unexpectedly; she felt like the truth would diffuse into his skin – _Han_ , she thought shakily – _you'll forgive me_.

She disentangled herself a little, and pushed him back on the bunk until his shoulders hit the pillows, and she straddled his hips lightly. She thought even he knew her intentions lacked any sexual overtones, she just let herself be closer to him, laying out over his chest and cupping his face in her hands, brushing hair out of his eyes.

"Can you see me?" she asked.

Han's eyes darted; he blinked.

"Up this close, yeah" he said hoarsely – the blindness was fading by the hour, and he reached up, his hands wrestling with hers, tangling, as he tried to touch her face, as well. "Your eyes," he mumbled, and nothing else – he could see her eyes best, he could focus on them – damn, she looked so good, and she looked so well; he'd been so afraid Vader would hurt her again, _kill_ her this time, and if he ever woke up, he'd have nothing.

"Han," she whispered, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "Han. Do you remember Bespin? The trip to Bespin?"

He nodded, moving his arms to her shoulders tightly, possessively – it felt so good to be touched again, by him; tough, callused hands that were never rough on her skin, and she thought she might start crying – _Han, I needed you so badly, you have no idea –_

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, Leia, I remember," he assured her huskily.

She sighed, lowering her head to his shoulder, pressing her face into his neck – he smelled chemical, sweaty; like steam, and elements, and she didn't care, she could taste him under the sheen of carbonite, she could inhale the real him, past all of that muck.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing herself to him, taking, a little selfishly, what she'd needed all these months, just the feeling he gave her, that everything would be okay, that he'd keep her safe – and even if her nerves trembled under the magnitude of what she needed – wanted to tell him – that didn't change; Han made her feel so _safe_.

His lips moved over the side of her head; he shifted and turned and tried to kiss her face, ended up settling for her jaw, her throat, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"I was goin' to stay, Sweetheart," he said hoarsely, his voice cracking. "Sounds stupid now," he grit his teeth – it sounded like he was just saying it, because obviously now he could; the hit on him a moot point with Jabba dead, and there wasn't anything else for him to do, but if he could make her believe – "I _was."_

She nodded a few times, small nods – maybe he had resolved to stay, before the carbonite, and maybe he hadn't – she didn't care; what washed over her was gratitude, relief that he felt so strongly now, still, that he wanted her to know he had no intentions of running off – she clung to those words, and hoped they would still ring true when the shock of the carbonite wore off, and he was steady again, and they were both thinking clearly –

She wanted him sure, wanted him making sound, healthy decisions, before she - before she told him the one she had made for them both.

* * *

Leia was startled by the ferocity with which Han sank his teeth into the Rebellion – medically cleared and on his feet again, mere days after docking with the fleet, he strode into General Rieekan's office with a purpose, shoulders squared, clothes still wrinkled – he signed a contract, and took a commission, and Leia was still reeling from it –

It left nothing to imagination about his intentions regarding her – that is what she read into it, and that is what she felt was supposed to be read into it – and Luke grinned at her from across a small table in his paltry quarters, hands curled around a mug of tea, dressed and ready to disembark on one of his mysterious jaunts, when he finished this cup with her.

"I can't believe they ranked him a general," Luke mused, shaking his head.

"They're desperate," Leia murmured wryly.

She sat with her legs crossed in her chair, feet off the floor, her body humming – she felt alight with nerves, and hope, relief and apprehension – when Han regained his bearings, he regained his sharp intelligence, his eerie way of understanding her even when she said nothing, and he was watching her thoughtfully –

"He knows something's wrong," Leia said quietly, reaching out to touch the tea Luke had given her.

She picked at peeling paint on the mug, rather than lifting it to take a sip. She watched steam curl out of it.

Luke sat forward, shaking his head a little.

_"Is_ there something wrong?" he asked, lowering his voice earnestly. "You – Leia, you seem okay," he said, concern edging into his voice. "Have I," he paused, contrite, "have I not noticed you're – "

She shook her head easily, waving he hand.

"I _am_ okay," she said.

She sighed, curving in her shoulders in a shiver. _Wrong_ wasn't the right word, then; there was nothing wrong, so to speak; she was stable, she was healthy, she had – put things behind her that needed to be behind her, she had adjusted, coped, accepted – but she'd had four months or so, and Han was so blissfully unaware.

"Han can read me," Leia said, knuckles resting lightly against her temple. "He knows when, when," she stammered, catching her breath. She turned her face into her hand for a moment, wiped her eyes, and then looked back at Luke with a sigh, "when something has happened."

Even if he wasn't that perceptive, he had to have noticed that the High Command treated him colder than they had before, Mon Mothma the worst of them – Leia was stunned to hear a general's commission had been authorized for him, but it had Rieekan's name written all over it – and regardless of their personal dislike of Han, for something he didn't even know he'd done, he was what they needed – he was one of the best.

Luke hesitated. He took a sip of tea, and then he set his mug down, leaning forward. He held his palm up – his real hand, he never extended his prosthetic for comfort, or for greeting. Leia took note of it, hesitating, and then she put her hand in his, squeezing.

"Will you tell him?" Luke asked quietly, fingers pressing into hers solidly.

Leia was quiet, looking at their clasped hands.

Luke cleared his throat nervously.

"It isn't my business," he said. "I don't – want to pry – "

She nodded her head, moving it slowly until he fell silent, watching her, waiting. She brushed her forehead with her free fingers, running her hand over her face, and drawing her thumb along her lip.

"Yes, I'll tell him," she said honestly. Her lips pursed, and she looked a little unfocused, reflecting; her eyes fixed on a point sort of – over Luke's shoulder, behind him. "I want him to know."

She had perhaps considered, briefly, that it would be cruel to mention it, unfair – unnecessary, even; why burden Han with an experience he had no knowledge of, and thus hadn't had to confront, and deal with? What was the point of bringing it up, when she could take care of herself, and it was in the past now –

She had considered that so briefly, she barely remembered thinking it, because neither her heart, nor her mind, let her rationalize it for very long – she didn't want something like that haunting her. If he had been some faceless nobody, some fling, some one night stand, then she wouldn't have bothered, but - she didn't want her relationship with Han poisoned with shadows and untruths, and particularly, now, she wanted him to know because he was staying, he was in this, unequivocally, and if she wanted a life with him – if they lived to make a life - she wanted it on pure terms, on certain ground, and she wanted him to know.

Leia lifted her shoulders, looking at Luke candidly.

"I have no idea how he'll react," she whispered.

Luke nodded thoughtfully. He held out his prosthetic hand to her, palm up.

"Can you imagine if he'd come out of carbonite and you were – " he trailed off, suddenly uncertain if he should say anything like that, at all – _ever;_ should he talk about it at all?

His hand fell to the table, and he winced, though Leia – Leia surprised him; she laughed a little, shaking her head, her eyes wide and incredulous. The thought was so incongruous – she had her doubts, regrets, she had questioned herself, and she had reaffirmed herself - but Luke seemed to illustrate how absolute her choice had been _, had to be_ – it was so much more than just Han that influenced her; she knew she had never healed from any of the things that had happened to her, and though she did think this calamity she'd faced after Bespin was another wound, she'd had to sustain it to have any chance for emotional survival.

Luke squeezed her hand, and sat back a little heavily.

"I don't think you have much to fear from Han," he said carefully. "He's not going to think you're, um – well, I don't think Han has spent his life, uh, preaching against it." Luke stammered uncomfortably. "He's not going to call you a degenerate."

Leia shook her head. She pulled her hand from Luke's and wrapped both of her palms around her mug, favoring the warmth - still not interested in drinking it. She moved her head back and forth, parting her lips just slightly.

"No," she agreed. "That's not – I don't know where Han's morality stems from," she said, looking off to the side with a quiet sight, "but that's not – I don't expect condemnation from him," she said, and as she said it, she knew she believed it – _not condemnation per se, but what if it hurts him?_

Leia's lashes fluttered.

"What do you expect?" Luke asked earnestly. "What's weighing heaviest on you?"

Leia couldn't answer. She didn't know. She felt like she'd been in an impossible situation; there was no way to discuss it with Han, involve Han, back then, and there was no way not to ambush him now – honesty, transparency, they were the most difficult things in the world – Leia thought of her father, wisely teaching her: _There's no easy way to tell the truth, Lelila, but you always must. You must –_ her father's voice faded, and she could hear her mother – _You know you can love a person even if you hate what they have done, little darling –_

Leia desperately wanted absolution from her mother, from her father, she understood that, and she had to remind herself frequently that it would never come; they would never know about this, and they would never offer their wisdom, or their comfort.

She only had Luke, as far as friends went – and Han, she supposed Han was her family, and perhaps, on some level, she was afraid he wouldn't give her the forgiveness she was seeking somewhere. She couldn't figure out why that desperate need for forgiveness plagued her, though, it wasn't as if she -

"I don't feel as if I did something wrong," Leia said aloud, her eyes alighting on Luke's softly – and tears pricked at her lashes.

"I…don't think you did," Luke offered honestly, taken aback by the sudden comment.

Leia was suddenly breathless.

"You consider how many cultures, across the galaxy, have _some_ stigma, or _history_ of stigma, about what I did," she put her hands to her chest, "and it makes you wonder if there's not some divine law you're breaking."

"You?" Luke asked.

"Me," Leia said shakily. "I'm not angry at Han. I'm not angry at myself – I feel haunted. I didn't _want_ it," she said, her words trembling, "I couldn't _do_ it. I was…I was hurting for Han, the whole time, for _Han_ , not for _it_ – "

"Leia?" Luke asked, eyes turned down for a moment, "why don't you ever say baby?"

She pressed her knuckles into her shoulders.

"I _can't_ ," she admitted hoarsely.

"Okay," Luke said, his eyes full of understanding, like he'd keyed onto something – and Leia understood it, too; she was hurting more than she had let on, and maybe it was hurting more now, because Han was back, and he was going to be hers, and maybe she'd changed her mind.

"You need to talk to Han," Luke said, _agreeing_ with her, not telling her.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

"You need some…peace, before you go into battle," Luke said firmly. "You can't fight the Empire if you're distracted."

"The Empire," Leia snarled, "is the reason I have been bludgeoned since I was nineteen years old – I can fight them with every ounce of hatred, and unrest, in my blood," she retorted.

Luke fell silent, cowed - and a little frightened – and nodded. Leia slid her hands down to her lap, and relaxed, exhausted suddenly. She looked down at her feet, crossed at the ankles in the chair, and breathed in and out slowly.

"How long will you be on Dagobah this time?" she asked.

"Very briefly," Luke said quietly. "I think I've learned what I can. I'll be back for the final assault."

Leia nodded. She looked up after a moment, setting her shoulders back.

"You think Han is adjusting well?" she asked.

Luke nodded.

"Yeah, I do – he's resilient," he said. "You two are alike, when it comes to that," he added – and then gave Leia a wry look: "I think he's annoyed about how close you and I are."

Leia smiled, rolling her eyes.

"It's not like that," she murmured – _Han, so quick to jealousy._

Luke laughed. He finished off the tea in his mug and stood, shaking out his robes – and Leia followed suit, taking his cues. She left her cooling mug of tea on the table, and Luke ignored it - she asked him to be safe in his travels, had his promise that he'd join them for the desperate, high risk operation they were planning, and he wrapped her in a tight, encouraging hug.

She tried to pull some of Luke's ever-present calm from him, and into herself, taking all of his words, an all of his support, to heart, and she regained some of her composure – what was done was done, she just wished there was a way to spare Han having to think about it at all, even if she had no way of anticipating how he'd feel.

* * *

The buzz, and fervor, that swept through the ranks like wildfire was contagious, and left a tangible layer of nerves and high spirits in the air – a second assault on a Death Star, more retribution, a punch to the Empire's gut, a chance at the Emperor himself – it was energizing, uniting, the last-ditch, possibly life-changing chance the Rebellion needed to tip the scales in their favor, if not outright _win_.

There was constant chatter, a sense of reckless delight mated with stark fear, and in the High Command briefing room aboard a Mon Calamari cruiser tucked away near Sullust, those integral to the upcoming fight lingered after the meeting had broken, discussing technicalities – marveling over the opportunity.

Leia sat near Han, her back straight and formal, contrasted with his lazy, relaxed stance as he lounged back in his seat. He talked casually with Chewie, and the commander set to lead his strike team down on Endor, and Leia angled her body towards Luke in relief – pleased to see him back, feeling settled, now that he'd joined their team for the shuttle crew – it felt right, more secure; she, Luke, Han, and Chewie – invincible.

Luke lifted his chin and gestured subtly at Han, raising his eyebrows at Leia, and she pressed her lips together, shaking her head slowly – _no, I haven't told him; there's no smooth way to bring it up._

She kept – struggling with the idea; this upcoming assault was huge, required all sorts of concentration, and she wasn't sure beforehand was the best time to start the conversation with him. There was the change that they would all die tomorrow, become skeletons, stardust and vapors – and if that happened, it wouldn't matter at all.

She went back and forth – and Han watched her; she caught a look of concern, of consternation on his face sometimes, and she thought the only thing that was saving her, really saving her from facing a line of tough questioning from him about _what was wrong, what happened_ – was the fact that they weren't – sleeping together, not in the sexual sense of the term; he hadn't quite gotten his stamina back, an after effect of the carbonite, a such a handful of weeks ago, and she silently reveled in it, because when his hands went for her hips, and his lips pressed to her stomach in fumbling attempts, and imitation of sex, she felt scared, and tense – _it won't happen again, failure is a fluke –_

_He needs to know,_ she told herself, _because when he gets the hang of himself again_ \- she was afraid it would all come tumbling out.

"Lieutenant."

Leia looked up, gave a short, polite nod to Generals Madine and Rieekan as they stood before her.

"I transferred your command over to General Solo," Madine said gruffly.

Han nudged Leia's thigh with his boot, smirking.

"You ever think you'd see the day, Your Worship?" he drawled. "I'm the boss of you."

"I'm still the boss of you all," Rieekan said pointedly. He turned to Leia. "Mon Mothma wants a word, before you retire from the evening," he said, glancing behind him – she'd just left the tail end of the briefing, and Rieekan looked irritated for a moment.

He looked back at Leia with an unreadable expression.

"She's on edge," he warned.

Han's brow furrowed, he thought it was a strange remark to make; as if Leia needed to be protected from Mon Mothma, of all people – but Leia only nodded her head simply, as if she understood, and her gaze drifted over Rieekan's shoulder, where Dodonna was approaching.

He said something gruffly, in a low voice, to Madine, and then seemed to notice the company. He looked between Leia and Han for a moment, his gaze lingering icily on Han – and he said nothing to him, pausing only to tilt his head at Leia.

"Lieutenant," he said politely, and he was off with Madine – Rieekan on his heels, with a silent look at Leia that seemed to imply he was – responsible for the others, apologizing for them.

Leia smiled tightly, and turned to Luke to answer something he asked her. She felt Han watching her, and she took a deep breath, unsurprised when he stood, brushing his hand pointedly against her side as he moved. She caught his eye, and he tilted his head, asking her to step aside.

She stepped down from the seat she was perched on and obliged him, stepping a bit aside from all of the chaos. She looked up at him, smiling a little at how he towered over her, and Han looked behind him, rubbing his hand over his jaw.

"Leia," he started quietly, because it had happened one too many times now to be an accident, and people like this didn't have accidents, anyway: "have you been demoted?"

Even Mon Mothma had called her _lieutenant_ , and though his memory was a little dull, and his vision was still blurry at the edges in the mornings, he was sure that when they'd left Hoth she was ranked as a Commander.

Leia held herself calmly, and glanced to the side, considering the mass of people chattering, dashing around, laughing – running on adrenaline concerning tomorrow's attack.

"Not now, Han," she answered, turning to look back at him.

He swallowed a feeling of dread.

"Is it because you came to get me?" he asked warily.

Leia bowed her head a little, folding her arms. She looked up, and she smiled a little.

"No, actually, it's not," she said honestly. She swallowed hard, again struck by the necessity of talking to him. "Han, I am going to explain it, I just can't do it right now." – _Not in this room, not with so much going on; maybe later, Han, maybe…_

Han looked at her quizzically, apprehension spiraling through him. He nodded, and placed his hand gently on her arm as Luke came over to them, still reveling in the energy – and he fixed a carefree look on his face for the kid, while internally wondering why the hell Leia had briefly looked scared of him – or, was it fear? He wasn't sure – there was just something there, shining, in her eyes.

Leia unexpectedly placed her hand on his chest, in full view of everyone, pressing her palm into his shirt, sliding it under his vest a little. She smiled at him confidently, and exhaled, throwing a look over his shoulder.

"I had better see what Mon wants," she said, stepping back to excuse herself.

Han nodded a little vaguely.

Leia squeezed his elbow as she slipped past him, and she saw Han reach up and run a hand over his jaw out of the corner of her eye, turning to Luke –

"Who the hell knocked her down to lieutenant?" she heard him ask, annoyed – and then Luke – "What? Oh. Well I – High Command did, but I – it's classified."

_There was gossip anyway_ , Leia thought, departing the briefing room for Mon Mothma's temporary command post office – her stomach clenched as she sought the right door for Mon's office, and she felt a rush of that stale sense of shame she'd gotten months ago, when this had all taken place – she didn't know what Mon Mothma wanted from her; _leave me alone, let me talk to the only other person who remotely has any stake in my body -_

Their relationship had never thawed, after Leia's indiscretion, and the handling of it; Leia even wondered, in the back of her mind, if some of Mon Mothma's animosity stemmed from her own personal beliefs about it. She could do nothing to help that – but she still felt rage, and hostility, when Mon Mothma looked down on her as if she were a hopeless little fool, when Leia had been smart, she had always been smart – she had always been careful, and calculating, and guarded herself, and her heart –

* * *

Mon Mothma sat at her desk, shoulders straight, hands resting on the arms of the chair.

"He's been seen coming and going from your quarters," Mon said. "Cap – General Solo," she corrected seamlessly.

Leia said nothing.

Mon took her silence for what it was; a challenge, and she said –

"It is not subtle."

Leia lifted her shoulder.

"I did not take leave and direct a rescue mission in the name of subtlety," she said coolly.

If there was anything that had become more pronounced in the time Han had spent in carbonite, it was Leia's resistance to martyrdom, her lack of deference to her elders. The way she saw it, her oldest friends, her wisest mentors – save Rieekan – had lacked compassion, and understanding when she needed it most, had turned their noses up when she showed signs of humanity, and of imperfection, and she would never forget it.

Mon looked stiff, angry.

"Did you learn nothing?" she asked. "Do you want to put yourself back in the exact same position you were in?"

Leia uncrossed her legs and sat forward sharply.

"I did not intend to get pregnant," she said coldly. "I took the precautions. It happened. It is unlikely that a malfunction happens twice to the same person."

"And this is what you think want?" Mon Mothma snapped. " _Him_?" She sat forward, gripping her armrests. "He's beneath you, Leia," she said bitterly. "You could have anyone."

"You mean I could have anyone who furthers your political cause."

"I was given to understand that you _intended_ to take that path!" Mon Mothma argued. "You are a Princess of Alderaan."

Leia's throat constricted for a moment, but when she regained her ability to speak, her words here iron –

"Alderaan wouldn't even recognize me," she said softly.

Mon Mothma put her head in one of her hands.

"Leia, I want to protect you," she said, almost a moan. "What are you doing – what the hell are you _doing_?"

Leia sat silently, stunned, for a moment, to hear Mon curse.

"You can't possibly continue an affair with General Solo if you did not even think enough of him to want to have his child."

Leia leaned back, feeling – feeling like she'd been slapped, doused in cold water. She pressed her lips together, tightening her jaw – that wasn't – that _wasn't_ – that _had not_ been her reasoning at all, nothing close to it, and maybe there was a spark of actual concern behind Mon Mothma's attitude if she thought Leia was just cleaning up a one-night-stand mistake, but the suggestion that she would, without batting a lash, have done this just because – it was Han –

She shook her head, staring at Mon Mothma.

"You think that," she said, "is why I terminated? Him?"

Her words were so quiet, so incredulous.

Mon Mothma rubbed her temple.

"I know how strictly Alderaan abhorred the practice," she said, her tone clipped.

Leia felt sick at the mention of her home world – _don't bring up Alderaan, don't judge me with Alderaan_ – Mon Mothma clearly didn't understand the nuances there; Alderaan had valued all life, indiscriminately, from the earliest spark to the very last flicker, and because of that, every social resource was provided to foster life – and the Rebellion, life on the run, provided none of that –

Leia shook her head again, never taking her eyes of Mon.

"You do not understand," she said, "at all."

Her assessment was flat – did the woman have that detached of a view of her; did Mon really not see that Leia barely held herself together on a daily basis? She stood, straightening her uniform – a look from her ended the conversation; she wouldn't sit here any longer and be subjected to Mon's misplaced concern, Mon's judgment, Mon Mothma's personal belief that she had failed the ghost of Bail Organa – Bail Organa was _Leia's_ problem, and she would handle the what-ifs, and what-would-he-thinks, on her own.

"Leia," Mon Mothma said tiredly. "Fraternization in the ranks is frowned upon in any army," she said. "Han has a commission with us now. It is your job to be," she paused, quiet, "subtle," she finished.

Leia said nothing for a moment.

"I will sleep with him on the _Falcon_ , then," she said curtly.

She did not pause to look back and gauge Mon Mothma's reaction, because she knew it would show strength to appear careless – and suddenly, she wanted to be out of that room, because she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She leaned against the wall outside the office, cool metal on the back of her head, and thought back to another hallway where she'd stood, nauseous and scared, and her hands trembled as she pressed them into her lower back – Mon Mothma thought she was easy, and reckless, and it hadn't bothered her at all; Luke thought she was suffering in an inescapable mire of depression, and she lingered somewhere in between.

_It happened, it was just something that happened,_ she thought to herself anxiously – _it wasn't Han, it was me, but it wasn't me, it was – everything_ – Leia closed her eyes, her heart stammering in her chest, wondering if there was any way, somehow, talking to Han could help her understand – her own lack of clarity.

* * *

Leia felt at home on the _Falcon;_ she felt at ease – and like it often was, before monumental events, her mind was settled; the plans were laid, and tomorrow's operation would unfold how it would unfold, victoriously, if she could help it – and if not, maybe they'd scrape along by the skin of their teeth once again.

Han lay next to her, the covers half off him, clothed for bed – flat on his stomach, he draped his arm over her waist, and his head buried in the pillows, and in her hair, nose and forehead against her neck. His arm was heavy, but so warm, and he breathed her in and out comfortably, basking in the more innocent side of intimacy more than he cared to admit.

She let her eyes fall closed, listening to him breathe; he shifted slightly, lifting his head, and moving his hand up ribs to the side of her breast, his fingertips stroking her skin lazily.

"Leia," he mumbled, blinking seriously. "S' goin' on?" he asked.

He couldn't think of anything Leia would do that would earn her a demotion, not from her precious Rebellion – and even he noticed the chill with which most of the High Command seemed to regard her – perhaps what bothered him most, was that it was clear Luke understood what was going on; Han had read the anxiety on the younger man's face easily – _stop asking me, Han, ask her._

Leia turned her head to look at him. She reached over and touched his chest, and he turned onto his side, his hand sliding lazily over her, resting low on her abdomen, and unconscious touch that plagued her.

"It's me," he said flatly. "'Cause you went after me," he prompted. "You're in trouble."

Leia looked at him a moment longer, and then she shook her head slowly. She covered his hand with hers, and pushed it off of her gently, sitting up. Combing her fingers through her loose hair, and shaking it down her back, she crisscrossed her legs, looking down at her ankles thoughtfully.

"It isn't that," she said truthfully. "The leadership was not happy with that decision, but they expected it."

Han looked a little amused at that.

Leia looked up from her ankles, resting her palms on her shins calmly. She thought there was no grand way to do this, no perfect words to say. She swallowed hard to steady herself, and met his eyes.

"Han," she began, resigned, but steady. "I got pregnant."

He looked at her blankly, and then sat up, his face turning white. He shifted until he was sitting up facing her, his head nearly brushing the top of the bunk, and he peered at her closely, as if looking for the joke.

She flicked her eyes away briefly, and nodded, looking back warily.

"You," he started hoarsely. He looked her over, and gestured almost nervously with his hand. "You?" he said again, the question, and confusion evident – _you aren't, I can see that you aren't – it's only been six months._

Leia took a deep breath, and held it somewhere in the back of her throat.

"I had an abortion," she said.

His head twitched imperceptibly, almost like he was shaking his ear out, and he stared at her, his mouth dry. He – his thoughts crashed together painfully in his head, and he leaned forward, cradling his palm in his hand for a moment – _you messed her up, Solo, goddamnit, you messed her up –_

He lay down on his back, almost collapsing, the air rushing out of his lungs.

" _Fuck_ ," he swore, the word directed at no one in particular as he tired to grasp the concept – _Leia, kriff, what-have-I-done - !_

She let out her breath slowly, unsure what he was feeling, unsure how he was reacting, and he reached up and seized her wrist, holding it tightly, his thumb pressed against her pulse. He looked over at her, and he caught sight of the apprehension written all over her face, the fear – that was why she'd looked scared of him in the briefing room.

"Are _you_ okay?" he asked, harsher than he meant to – he asked as if he'd just been told she was in an explosion, and Leia almost lost control of herself – he was concerned about her, and it – it made her feel so much better.

Wordlessly, she nodded, and he leaned back up, still holding on to her arm. He looked uneasy, and swallowed hard. He seemed to struggle, and then he slid his hand into hers, clutching her fingers.

"Because…of me?" he asked uncomfortably.

Leia sighed, for a moment; unsure what he was asking – and then it hit her at once that he meant the same thing that Mon Mothma meant, and she moved forward, laying down next to him. She touched his cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth, and turned to her back, running her hands lightly over her face, pushing one through her hair.

"Well, it was yours," she said quietly, clutching tightly at her hair. "But," she said, light as air, "I didn't get rid of it because of you."

_Not because it was yours, Han. Not_ because _._

Unsettled, he reached for her hand, disentangling it from her hair, pulling on her arm.

"What happened?" he asked, a little exasperated, his eyes searching her face – lost, betrayed, probably as taken aback as she'd felt when she thought – _what the hell; I had an implant!_ "Leia…I thought?" he stopped.

She lifted her shoulders helplessly.

"It didn't work," she said simply.

There was no other explanation – no fancy verbiage, nothing highly rare that explained the phenomenon; just faulty birth control that did not do the one single thing it was designed to do.

She stared up at the ceiling of the bunk, her heart racing. She felt Han lay his head down, turn is face into the pillow, swear again – muffled. She bit her lip, wishing he'd just wrap his arms around her and tell her it didn't matter – _just forget it, Sweetheart_ – but that was irrational, he'd have questions –

"Fuck," he said again, hoarsely. "High Command knows?"

She nodded, her brow furrowing.

He muttered something to himself, darkly – _that's why they all hate you, Solo; that's why they're even colder than usual._

He curled his arm around hers, holding it for a moment, and he lifted his head again. He seemed at a complete loss – he had no idea what to ask, he had no idea how this even – how did she feel, what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to be angry, _relieved_? He was sure as hell glad no one had practically handed him a baby on the skiff from Jabba's palace, but something told him Leia wouldn't have come out of this unscathed –

"Are you hurt?" he asked, stumbling over his words, the right thing to say. "Did it hurt you?"

Leia took a deep breath, and he rested his head on his palm, watching her closely. She shook her head in an a small way, tilting her head back and forth – she didn't want to get into details; yes, it had been uncomfortable, she'd been sore, she hadn't figured out yet if it broke her heart –

"Are you okay?" Han asked again, hoarsely.

Leia glanced down at her self, and gave him a small shrug. She was quiet for a long time, and then she looked back up at him, her lashes trembling. She nodded again, pressing her lips together tightly. He looked at her for a moment, and leaned down to kiss her jaw, lowering his lips to her shoulder with a quiet groan, exhausted maybe, defeated.

"'M sorry," he mumbled, his chest hurting, for reasons he couldn't exactly explain – somehow, the announcement had a voice in his head screaming – _you've barely been with her!_ But it was easy to ignore; he'd only been sleeping with her for a short time in the grand scheme of things, but sex was benefit of their relationship, not the cornerstone.

"It's not your fault," Leia murmured.

She turned her head, and she caught her breath, her words hitching, suddenly slamming to get out—

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," she said, feeling breathless, like she'd run a marathon, "I didn't know – anything, how you'd react if you were there, if you wanted – I didn't even know if I wanted, and – we're at war, and I had no, no _one,_ I only had you, and Bespin – it, they'd made me watch them torture you, and I was in such a bad – bad place –

"You had to watch?" he asked, pulling back to look at her.

She nodded, her eyes red and wet.

"Yes, _yes,_ I had to watch," she said in a rush.

He touched his forehead to hers. Holding her gaze, his jaw tight. He held himself there for a moment, and then he closed his eyes, and shook his head a little, his jaw flexing as he frowned.

"Why're you explaining this?" he asked warily.

Leia sat up, wrestling away from him. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder wildly, and she turned pale again; she looked small.

"I don't know what to say," she said. "I've been…I had no idea what you would think of…me, or that I, that's – what I decided to do," she held her hand to her heart. "I felt so lost, Han and so, _destroyed_ – I had to."

He looked up at her from the pillow, stricken.

"Hell, Leia," he said gruffly, hoping he didn't sound awful – "What were you supposed to do, have a baby? In the middle of all _this_?"

His voice caught, and he sounded disbelieving, appalled even.

"I'm not mad at you," he said suddenly, almost scoffing – he wanted to reassure her, but he thought he sounded offended – and Leia leaned forward to touch his shoulder.

"You can't think, you can't ever think, that it means I don't – that I don't love you," she whispered, her fingertips shaking on his jaw.

Leia's heart tightened painfully, and she gasped for breath, wondering how long she'd been waiting to tell him that – how long had she even been thinking that? She didn't know; perhaps Mon Mothma put it in her head, perhaps it was always there, something she'd buried, some fear she'd held at bay, and sitting with him now, it burst out of her.

"I don't think that," he said bluntly.

He shook his hands off her face, glaring at her firmly.

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated – is that what she needed to hear?

_Kriff_ , he thought painfully – _what a mess_ – and he felt responsible, even if it wasn't his fault, he hadn't intended – but Leia; handling a nightmare alone, and after the living nightmare Bespin had been. He didn't know what to think or feel at all – he knew he was relieved, because he just – he didn't think he was good enough for that yet, that kind of – step in life, and he wanted to be alone with Leia – but he didn't want Leia to hurt, either.

He closed his eyes tightly, his head aching, and then he looked at her with consternation, distracted by something else –

"Hang on," he muttered. "You – why were you demoted?" he asked slowly.

Leia drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She inclined her head.

"That," she said delicately, "is why."

Han frowned stiffly.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "You lost your rank – 'cause you had an abortion?"

Leia hesitated. She released her legs, and laid down, resting her head on her arm. Her anger flared in her, and her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowing.

"My – _priorities_ were not in the correct place," she quoted. She licked her lips. She felt at a loss. "It was a punishment."

"For what?" Han demanded harshly. "For gettin' knocked up? Then why'd I get made a general?" he asked. "They got mad at you for – it _is_ me; it's 'cause it was _me_."

"It's because it happened at all, Han," Leia sighed, gritting her teeth. "It's you, it's the fact that I acted selfishly, it's elements of power – and I removed one of their elements."

"What?" he growled.

" _Me_ ," she said, shoving her knuckles into her chest. "My body, my name, my political leverage, I took it away."

"You're not a hand of _Sabacc_!" Han barked. "You're a person!"

She covered her face with her hands, taking a deep breath.

"I _know_ ," she said, her voice muffled in her palms. "I know, Han, that's why I want _you_."

He looked at her, his head still aching – and his pulse throbbing with annoyance, and the desire to barge in on every member of the High Command and give them a talking to with his right hook – but he chose, instead, to lay down next to her, and put his arm over her, sighing in frustration against her temple.

He shifted closer to her, as close as he could get, and he forced himself to calm down.

"Leia," he mumbled tiredly. "Was your hand forced?"

"No," she answered – an easy question, because it wasn't; oddly enough, Mon Mothma's first assumption had been to plan for Leia to be sent away, locked away, probably. "I wanted," she stopped, choking on her words. "No, I didn't – want to be in that situation, I didn't want to have to do it, but," she struggled, "but I decided, given the – it was me," she said finally, hollow, "I chose it."

Han nodded, pulling back to see her face.

"I – thought about, um, not telling you," she confessed in a small voice, flicking her eyes away, "sparing you the – gory details, but I can't imagine…sleeping with you, ah, continuing with you, and keeping that – and it seems like you might want to stick around."

Han nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah, I want to stick around," he said thickly. He lifted his brows. "I needed to know," he added.

Leia nodded, breathing out slowly. He leaned down and kissed her, slowly at first, sliding his hand into her hair. She tangled her fingers in his, until they were both breathless, and he broke away to lie next to her, running his hand up and down her side.

"The kid knows?"

"Yes," Leia breathed quietly. "He's really been – he's been there. For me."

Han was silent on that subject, and cleared his throat after a long stretch of silence.

"Kriff," he said again, heavily. Leia turned her head to him, foreheads touching.

She said nothing for a moment, and then she turned onto her side to face him.

"I've been thinking about my mother so often, since," Leia said softly, overcoming her insecurity now that it was out in the open, and aching for that close confidence she'd had with him on the way to Bespin. "She…lost every baby she ever tried to have."

Leia swallowed hard, her sinuses taut and painful, her eyes full of tears – oh, it was something that bothered her so much, wondering what her mother would think.

Han cleared his throat softly.

"You think she'd be upset?" he asked.

"I think she'd be horrified," Leia said faintly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Han heard her struggling with her breath, and reached up to touch her face, his thumb resting below her eye.

"You can't beat yourself up thinking your mother is judging you from the grave."

"She wouldn't judge," Leia corrected in a murmur. "She would…her heart would ache. She was Alderaanian to the core; her personal disapproval would be gentle, and she'd understand," Leia paused, her voice catching, "but humans are – human, and after all she suffered – I know she'd think it was callous, and – and cruel," Leia trailed off, looking down.

Han moved his hand down to her shoulder and massaged her there gently. He had nothing useful to say, he was sure he didn't – he didn't know how to comfort Leia over what she thought her late parents would think, and he still wasn't sure how he felt himself; very concerned for her, without a doubt – and he kept being struck with a bitter sort of guilt, because he wasn't sad, but the concept was so abstract to him, and he was so unprepared for anything like that –

"Sweetheart," he said anxiously. "It's okay."

Leia draped her arm over him.

"I wouldn't have been any good at it, as it were," she whispered.

"What?"

"You know," she murmured, sighing shakily, "being a mother."

Han thought about it for a moment, still massaging her shoulder – did she want him to contradict that, argue with her, or did she just want him to listen? He didn't want it to sound like he was telling her she should have made a different decision, and he had no idea what she wanted in life in that respect—

"You're wrong," he said under his breath.

She scoffed. He leaned closer, kissing her jaw, and then finding her ear with his mouth –

"You raised this Rebellion," he said fiercely - she may not have started it, but she had damn well directed it with a balanced hand during its wild adolescence.

Leia looked at him with her red eyes and pale face, smiling after a moment – smiling tiredly.

"I missed you," she said, an oft repeated sentiment, since Tatooine.

Han swallowed, moving his hand back up to tangle in her hair.

"I love you," he promised, lifting his brows as if to ask her, silently, if she understood – _tell me you know that, Sweetheart._

He searched her eyes intently, trying to read her, trying to understand what she needed from him. He couldn't tell if she was sorry she'd done it, if she regretted it, if it didn't bother her at all – and he didn't know how he wanted her to feel about it, nor did he know the best way to be there for her. He'd missed – so much, while he was frozen; he wasn't there to help her bear the brunt of this, and that left him feeling alienated, not good enough – _kriff, Leia_ , he thought again – she'd been through so much.

"I try not to think about it," Leia said into the silence, her voice resolved.

He figured that was okay, if that was what she wanted – and it had happened so many months ago at this point, it wasn't a fresh wound, or a fresh pain, he sensed; she did seem to be at ease with the fact that it had happened, and it was what had to happen.

Leia pressed her head into his chest, moving closer; her body relaxed into him, skin against skin, he felt relief every fiber of her - _there's nothing you can do about this, Solo; it just happened_. He held her and thought – he was so far removed; it didn't even feel like it was something that happened to him, she was alone, like she always was.

He thought – _then I won't think about it._

Leia breathed him in, her soul settling for a moment, and she felt sleep whispering to her, sleep she might be able to have without a nightmare, or without fitfully waking up to think herself into oblivion, and she thought, in her quiet silence with Han, that tomorrow would be the day she took the Empire by the throat, the Empire that had dictated her life, and stolen so much from her – and _throttle_ it.

* * *

 

**_Part 2/3_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -to clarify in case there is some confusion: this final scene takes place the night before they leave on shuttle Tyderium, not the night before the assault on the actual Death Star
> 
> -Alexandra


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: We're on Endor now; "Hold me" scene, and onward -

**_Absolution  
Part 3/3 _ **

**_6 months after Bespin / 4 months after abortion_ **

* * *

Han had no idea what he was walking into, when he left the campfire in search of her; he didn't know what to think, when he caught the tail end of a conversation between Leia and Luke that had clearly upset her, badly. He was already agitated, maybe irrationally so, that they seemed so close, because Luke had been around for Leia when Han hadn't been able to, and that bothered him on a deeply personal level.

He had left a world in which _he_ was Leia's safe place, a blank page for her to scrawl her fears and worries on, the only person she let her guard down around, and he was awakened in a world where Luke seemed almost eerily in tune with her –

Jealousy was a nasty thing, a blaster with a hair trigger, and it flared so quickly that it went off like a shot from the hip, an angry outburst was a half-thought-out trigger pull, bad marksmanship – _Could you tell Luke, is that who you could tell?_ – he regretted the hit as soon as he took it, because she'd dipped her head, with a grimace on her mouth like – _don't make this harder on me than it is._

_What is_ it _?_ \- he thought to himself, bewildered, holding her like she'd asked, his arms tight around her shoulders, smoothly rubbing her back.

Their day had gone off track, that much was obvious; it wasn't part of the plan to end up in a primitive colony with an earnest alien species, but they seemed like they'd be good allies, and it wasn't all blown to hell – yet. He knew she was on edge, they all were – this was it, kill or be killed – but what got her down now, specifically, he didn't know –

Leia was usually calm before a storm, calculating, and right now she was shaking, trembling just imperceptibly as if she were cold, though the planet was thick with a rainforest-like humidity – and Han looked over her head along the path of elevated bridges via which Luke had disappeared, his expression darkening – something Luke did, or something Han did?

She untucked his shirt, and her hands slid up underneath it, brushing against his back; she pressed her face closer – Leia wondered if Han's arms were the only place she'd ever feel safe, for the rest of her life.

She felt like crying, but her tears were trapped somewhere behind a wall of horror, and disbelief, and she was only able to process Luke's clear, accepting blue eyes, the maddening sagacity in his tone – _It's you, Leia_ – well; sharing a mother with Luke was all well and good, but the implications of the rest –

_Darth Vader._

Leia pushed away from Han a little roughly, alarmed, hoping he didn't take it personally, but too shaken to care – she felt, acutely, needles pricking her under her fingernails, but she spread out her hands and nothing was there – _no, no, just memories_ – the probe droid, piercing her skin over and over again, Vader _– your father_ – standing there, watching – _Tell me where the plans have gone, Your Highness_ –

Leia's thoughts and memories turned into a single, sound, a piercing internal scream, and for a moment, she saw only black, her vision blurring dangerously – she thought she was going to pass out, and she reached out for Han, grabbing his sleeve tightly.

He stepped forward, putting an arm around her waist. He said something to her that she didn't understand; the lightheaded feeling passed, but it settled into a moving, violent ocean in her stomach, and she knew she was going to get sick – she closed her eyes and bent over the rope of the bridge, still holding onto Han.

She knew there was no amount of retching that would purge this knowledge from her, this savage revelation, but her stomach continued to churn anyway, until there was nothing left inside of her to cough up and choke on, and she was just standing there with her head bowed, trembling still.

Han was rubbing her shoulders lightly, his touch soothing, bent over her, head near her ear.

"You done?" he asked calmly.

She nodded, and he drew her back from the edge of the bridge. She looked up at him through her lashes, and he was pale, his expression tight. He nodded behind her, walking her backwards – "C'mon, go sit down," – he said.

She let him guide her until she was perched on a rock, on firmer ground, and he crouched beside her, apprehension in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's going on, Leia? This got somethin' to do with Luke?"

She didn't answer – it wasn't Luke's fault, but – he had – ambushed her with this – Leia shook her head unconvincingly, and Han put his hands on her knee, hesitating again.

"Does this have something to do with…" He trailed off, moving his hand up her leg. He seemed to reach out for her abdomen, second-guess himself, and his hand fell nervously to his own knee – and Leia twitched away a little sharply.

"No, that was months ago, Han," she retorted tensely, her teeth snapping together.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey," he snapped back, a little angrily. "I don't know what to ask – "

"I said I was okay with it," she interrupted. "I'm fine."

Han bristled.

"I know what you said," he fired back, narrowing his eyes, " _this_ isn't very convincing!" he pointed out.

Distressed, he shifted, standing up, and then sitting down beside her, leaning forward next to her on the boulder. He grit his teeth in frustration – what was he supposed to think? She'd just told him this – confided in him about this, massive _thing_ she went through, while he was hibernating away, oblivious, and he still felt like mere seconds had passed, sometimes, he felt like it should be fresh –

She told him – _barely_ a day ago that she'd had an abortion, and she expected him to believe that whatever was going on with her right now had nothing to do with that conversation? He'd already been a little taken aback by her – neutrality on the situation – he tried to attribute it to the time she'd had to adjust that he simply did not benefit from, but still his mind was full of jumbled agitation about her – _did you do it because you assumed I'd want that, Leia?_ He kept agonizing over it – because there were things he wasn't ready to do right now, but he did everything he could to make himself a good man for her, and he didn't think he wanted her assuming he'd have just shrugged and thought, _yeah, get rid of it_ –

He swallowed down sour insecurities, ordering himself to remain calm – _don't snap at her again, you don't mean it_ – but he was afraid something about this had turned her off of him, and it left him powerless.

Leia pushed her hands through her hair.

"No," she said softly. She closed her eyes and compressed her lips. "I'm not upset about that."

"What made you sick?" he pressed, anxious. "Is it a side-effect?"

She held her hands out as if she would throttle him.

"It's done with, Han, it's _over_ ," she said. " _Months_ ago," she reiterated. " _Kriff_ , if it was such a bad scrape that I was still sick, I'd be dead."

He looked at her with wide eyes, acutely startled by the insensitive slang. Leia caught sight of his expression, and covered her mouth as if she could put the words back in, blanching. She closed her eyes, and Han ran his hand over her knee, shaking his head gently – he wasn't offended by that, just stunned she –

"Leia," he asked thickly, "are you sure you handled this?" he asked perceptively.

She lowered her hand and looked down at her hands.

"I don't," she said carefully, "want to talk," she took a deep breath, "about that," she let it out, "right now."

She pressed her palms together and slid them between her knees, bending forward – Han's concern, and frustration, seemed to emanate off of him in waves, frigid, and demanding answers, and Leia felt stricken with a bloodthirsty guilt, because a grim thought whipped through her – _good thing you killed it, if Vader's your father._

She breathed in and out a few stuttering times, gutted by her own inner voices, and shied away from both the vindictive side of her, and the grieving side of her, trying to find some safe space in between – but Han was her safe space, and Han was worried, and trying to keep up, and this – damnable truth that Luke had handed down was something else she'd have to tell him, and right now Han was – Han was the last pure thing in her life –

"Han," she gasped, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Is there anything I could say to you that would make you stop loving me?"

He tilted his head at her, speechless for a moment - and he thought, rapidly, of everything they'd been through – hell, of everything in his life he'd been through, and what it had taken in the past to turn his love into nothing – and he came up short; he started to say – _if you told me you wanted Luke instead_ – but that was a lie, it might piss him off, but it wouldn't flip a switch and stop him feeling anything for her.

He shook his head, and shrugged.

"No." He looked at her, and then down at his knees warily. "Why? Are you going to try?"

Leia turned to him and put her head directly on his shoulder, letting out a breath heavily. She slid one of her hands between his legs, holding onto his thigh, and he sensed palpable relief in the way she touched him, and his throat constricted – _Sweetheart; what do you have to say?_

"I just want one more night like this," she said hoarsely, almost to herself.

Han opened his mouth, and shut it quickly, unsure what that meant – but he was suddenly too wary to question her, and too wary he'd say the wrong thing. He reached over and rested his hand on the back of her head – _one more night like this, sick and crying and miserable – like what, Leia?_ –

She dug her fingertips into his thigh, holding onto him – one more night of him not knowing what he was getting into, that's what she wanted, that's what she needed –

\- because the strange thing about the impending all-or-nothing fight was that she felt the end of the war at her fingertips, and it felt like rock-bottom, and certain death, rather than victory – she'd have to live in a whole new world, if they triumphed, and deal with everything that had happened to her.

* * *

Luke smelled like carbon and smoke, and he moved stiffly. The physical residue of his harrowing altercation with the Emperor was prominent, yet he looked effervescent, and shining, and relieved – he said he had set the masked menace alight in a bonfire – _a traditional Jedi funeral, Leia; he was redeemed_ – and she thought, quietly, to herself – _Good; you burned the bastard._

There was campfire smoke all around them, festive music, celebratory drinking, laughter, singing – all the noises of victory, and Luke sat with Leia on a fallen tree trunk, a casualty of the day's battle, and he examined her blaster wound, his fingers delicate on the dressing.

"It isn't that bad," Luke said, relieved – he'd been worried when he heard someone mention Leia took a hit during the melee. He laughed a little. "The way Han was acting, I thought your arm was disintegrated."

Leia laughed hoarsely, softly - she looked up and found Han over by one of the fires, having an animated conversation with a couple of the Rogues –

"He can be a drama queen," she murmured.

"Nah," Luke said, releasing Leia's arm. He folded his arms pointedly, arching a brow. "He's just protective."

Leia nodded her head slowly, still watching him. She smoothed at the skirt of her gown, fingers tripping over the crude cross-stitch in it, and she looked down at her hands, spreading them out before her.

"You told him?" Luke ventured.

She looked over at him blankly, placidly, for a moment, and then her jaw tightened.

"You have to be more specific," she said, almost icily – _about which terrible thing, Luke?_ She demanded silently.

"I'm not talking about what happened four months ago," Luke said simply. He turned and followed her gaze. "I mean, Han gave me a hug when he saw me after the battle, and it was a nice hug, so you must have said something to him."

Leia fought the urge to laugh – and then surrendered to it, telling herself – _no, you need to laugh Leia; please laugh when you feel like laughing._

"What are you talking about?" she asked, distracted for a moment, and reveling in it. "You keep an analytical index of Han's hugs?"

Luke feigned solemnity.

"Don't you?"

Leia laughed again, grinning at him. She shrugged, and tilted her head.

"Well, yes," she joked.

Luke smirked. He gestured at Han, and became serious again.

"He's been giving me the cold shoulder," he said quietly. "It's about you. You know it is – or, was."

Leia nodded. She turned towards Luke.

_When he comes back, I won't get in the way._

"Yes, I told him," she said slowly. "I think he feels significantly less threatened," she said, deadpan.

Luke snorted gleefully, and ran his hands over his jaw.

"How'd he take it."

Leia put her head on her palm, propping her elbow on her knee.

"Strangely well," she whispered, thinking of his half-cocked questions – _Like a brother?_ – _No, my brother_ – and Han had just looked at her kind of skeptically, waiting for more, and she'd said nothing else, because it was daylight, and they had just won something magnificent, and she didn't know how to follow it with – _and-we're-both-the-spawn-of-the-devil-himself._

"Good," Luke said earnestly.

He put his hand on her back.

"What about Vader?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head stiffly.

"I can't."

"Leia, Han won't care."

"Vader _tortured_ him."

Luke held up his prosthetic hand pointedly.

Leia's expression darkened.

"Not everyone has your capacity for forgiveness, Luke," she snarled.

He lowered his hand, his face falling. He sighed, and shook his head.

"Han used to work for some of the nastiest criminals in the Outer Rim," he said grimly.

Leia pushed her hand through her hair – that did not make her feel better, and really, it wasn't that she couldn't tell Han; she had to, she needed to, it was fair, and it was honest, but –

"I don't want to tell him," she said shakily. She closed her eyes, and her lips trembled. "I've just…heaped so much on him since Tatooine, Luke," she went on, opening her eyes and looking at him pleadingly. "With all of this – stuff that has happened, it's as if we went from friends to – to," she searched for something to compare it to, and laughed mirthlessly, "I don't know, the tenth year of _marriage_."

She bit her lip, pressing her hands into her stomach.

"I think I want to be with Han for the rest of my life, but our relationship was new, and how can it take all of this?"

She bowed her head.

"I don't know," Luke said honestly. "I'm not the expert there," he added a little dryly. "For what it's worth, you and Han were never just _friends_ ," he said. "It was all or nothing with you two. That's just how it is with some people."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at his hands.

"How was he about the other thing?" he asked finally.

Leia took a deep, shuddering breath, delicately choosing her words.

"Dazed," she decided finally. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "He was, ah…he still _is_ ," she amended, "worried?" she tried. "I think he just…doesn't know what he's supposed to do. I think he feels guilty."

Luke's brow furrowed.

"Why?"

Leia didn't answer that question, though she said, after a moment –

"I know how he feels."

Luke put his arm around her shoulders. He fell silent, sitting there with her, and she tried to dwell on Luke, not anything else; Luke was her brother, and there was nothing wrong in that, nothing unpleasant in having such a good soul for a sibling – if there was no Vader, there would be no Luke – but if there was no Vader – Vader was responsible for so much of the darkness in her _life;_ she could trace almost everything back to _him_ , and his Empire.

"Luke," she said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Is it genetic?"

She bit her lip.

"The Force," she clarified. "That…power."

"Yes, I think so," he said airily.

Leia lifted her head and straightened up, looking across the fire at Han again. She felt like sobbing, but like last night, her tears were still stuck; she was tired of crying, even if it hurt not to, sometimes. She felt ripped up and tattered inside and she couldn't identify the feeling yet, she kept flashing between relief that she wasn't on the verge of furthering Vader's bloodline, and a hollow sense of despair – and where exactly that stemmed from, she wasn't sure – regret, desire, grief?

Leia turned her head and looked off into the forest, the noise fading in her ears. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, heard footsteps, and Luke stood, stepping aside – _Hey kid_ , she heard Han say, his voice anchoring her back to the present.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, his lips on her cheek as he bent down, reaching for her hand.

"You want to go to bed, Sweetheart?" he asked in a low voice, suggestive, and alluring.

Leia squeezed his hand, and turned to him, catching Luke's eye for a brief second as he gave her a small wave and bowed out, jogging down to the campfire. She swallowed hard, and met Han's eyes –

"I have to tell you something first,"she said softly.

He nodded, tilting his head curiously, and she stood up, tilting her head up to look at him – there weren't many times she wished she was tall enough to stand toe to toe with him and look him in the eye, but this was one of them – she wondered if she'd look any different in his eyes when he knew.

* * *

Outside on the porch of a treehouse, beneath the moon and the stars, in silence away from the cacophony of the party, Han leaned against the sturdy carved railing and looked at Leia, his arms folded, listening to her with all he had.

He found himself, again, drawn into a moment when he didn't know what was coming – he didn't understand what was going on – but at least, at least, this time, Leia was new to the issue as well – and as strange as it might seem, he was glad he had some context for her pronouncement that Luke had been her _brother_ all of this time.

Leia talked to him like he wasn't there, though he recognized it as a tactic to shield himself – her body language suggested she didn't want to be touched, so he respected that, listening, just _listening,_ while she stumbled over the explanation – or, not really stumbled, quietly, and stiffly, related what Luke had told her – _separated; hidden from him – Vader, my father was_ … _Vader_ –

Han was half-tempted to demand she tell him what Luke's proof was; that was an outrageous claim to make, it was an unbelievable story, but the words froze on his lips, because some part of him told him that it might sound like he wanted her conditionally – _well, let's find out if it's true before I decide you're the one_ – and on some level, he wanted to hunt down the kid, and punch him a couple of times in the gut, because maybe that might convey a little of how Leia felt about this.

She had stopped talking, and she leaned against the railing, her face pale, staring at him.

He cleared his throat quietly.

"This is what you were talkin' to Luke about?" he asked gruffly. "The other night?"

She nodded.

Han's mouth felt dry.

She said, in a whisper –

"I never – thought to care who the people who gave me up were."

Han noticed she didn't even refer to them as parents of any kind; she was so wholly the Organas' that perhaps she was even having trouble comprehending her own adoption, despite the fact that she'd always known it was a fact of her existence.

Han shifted his weight, and looked down over the railing, and then back at her.

"And now you think I want to give you up?" he asked bluntly.

Leia tilted her head up and shrugged.

"I know what he did to you," she said hoarsely. "I was there."

Han didn't answer for a moment. He flinched a little – he wasn't even completely healed from the injuries on Bespin; his third degree burns were peeling and flaky, still a little sore to the touch, and he still felt the suffocation of the carbon freezing chamber, choking him in the back of his throat, when he slept fitfully.

"I don't care," Han said flatly.

Leia sucked in her breath, and he pushed away from the railing, striding forward.

"I don't care, Leia."

She put her hands up wildly.

" _How_?" she cried in a whisper. "How can you _not_ care?"

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, and she struggled away from him, her head tilted up fiercely.

"I care. _I_ care," she said. "I feel _ruined_. That's what's in my blood. _Him_ ," she held out her hands like they were covered in it, shaking. Instead of saying anything else, she made a noise of frustration, a soft scream.

Han took her hands tightly, thumbs on her wrists.

"So what?" he asked. "So – you want nothin' to do with Luke, then?" he asked.

She clenched her teeth. He stepped closer, reaching up to touch her face.

"What the _fuck_?" she hissed angrily – what did that have to – _ohhh, ohhh._ He said it even as realization dawned on her face –

"If you don't think Luke's ruined, then why would I think you are?" Han asked coolly.

Leia gasped.

"Luke's…better than any of us."

Han laughed a little. He stepped closer, running his hands through her hair, pulling her as close as she would let him.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he send, leaning down to his her temple, and her eyelashes, and her lips. "Hell. Oh, _hell_ , I love you," he swore.

He caught her eye.

"This is it?" he asked gruffly. "The thing you asked me, if there's anything you could say to make me stop?"

Leia rested her head on him, and nodded.

"Try harder," he said bluntly.

She slid her hands into his pockets, pressing into him tightly. He held her again, hoping she took it to heart, the things he said. He still looked at her and wondered what the past six months had been like – up until today, he'd struggled with the fear that she was playing a part with him, looking for a way to tell him, gently, that she'd prefer Luke, and no matter what he said, he didn't know what he'd have done if she _had_.

He wouldn't have hurt Leia, but he'd have lost something he'd never find again.

He tilted her head up and kissed her, and she slid her hands up to his neck, her nails brushing the ends of his hair, rising on her toes to reach him better. She kissed him like she was trying to convince herself he was still there, and he resolved to be as convincing as possible – he wondered if there was more bothering her, there had to be – she had to have known, deep down, that he'd never think differently because of who she was related to.

"Leia," he mumbled, kissing her between words. "C'mon, let's go to bed." He kissed her neck, inhaling her.

She sighed.

"I'm gun-shy," she murmured anxiously.

He paused to look at her, nose almost touching hers – he didn't understand, for a moment, and she looked at him and seemed so young, and nervous, and he hadn't seen her look like that in a long time – _gun-shy?_ He asked himself – she couldn't be scared he'd hurt her – he lifted his brows abruptly, suddenly realizing –

There was no way Leia felt secure about sleeping with him – with anyone – after she'd been betrayed by practicality itself. He hesitated, trying to think of something to say to soothe her – he just shrugged –

"We'll deal with it," he said quietly, though he figured there was no way birth control fucked up twice for the same woman – "Hey," he reminded her, "I'm gonna stick around, remember?"

He expected a smile – and she nodded, and looked relieved, but the words didn't seem to have quite the right effect. She leaned in to kiss him, and she tasted like heartache, and he pulled her into the treehouse, unsure if he was ever going to be able to make that go away.

* * *

She was awake, long after he'd gone to sleep.

It made sense he'd find it easy to sleep – they'd won the most significant battle of their lives, he had her, the Vader connection she so abhorred wasn't something that weighed on him.

She lay next to him, flat on her back, naked and wrapped in furs, and grappled with how she felt about herself – she accused Vader's ghost, and Vader's connection to her, of reawakening her distress over the choice she'd made four months ago, but if she was honest with herself, she knew it only made the grief more complex, exacerbated her already tangled feelings –

\- it was like Han, telling her – _we'll deal with it_ – saying, in his own words, that he could be there if an accident happened again, he wouldn't go running; that should have comforted her, reassured her that he didn't fault her, and wasn't going to leave her, but it only made her feel like she'd done something awful.

The spark of cold relief she'd felt at first, relief that she wasn't going to have a baby that was related to that monster, had writhed and twisted into a horror that she must be like him, if she could make a choice like that so quickly –

The certainty she'd had that there was no way she could chose fatherhood for Han when he wasn't around to have a say in it had dissolved into a paralyzing fear that she'd stolen something from both of them, because here he was, lying next to her, prepared for anything.

She listened to him breathe, and listened to the rustle of the wind in the trees, and listened to lazy, fading shouts of laughter and bursts of music, victory celebrations still going on even as most people and creatures retired to bed.

_Victory_.

If she'd known, four months ago, that _this_ would happen – but that didn't matter, did it? Civil War or not, Han's absence or not, she was broken, she was in no place to be a mother, then – definitely not now – she knew that about herself, she just hadn't had time to deal with it – nothing about what had happened fit with how she wanted to have a baby, if she ever wanted to have a baby.

More often that not, she couldn't understand if she _wanted_ the baby – she'd wanted Han so much, she'd missed him so much, and that was a part of him; but the circumstances had been so dire, and she didn't think she wanted that without him – and now, Han was back, and that was gone forever, and her father was Darth Vader –

She felt a wave of nausea and turned to the side sharply, afraid she would vomit. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry – she hadn't cried since Luke had told her about Vader – she realized she couldn't stop herself. She tried to cover her mouth, bury her face in the furs, but it was useless, and she burst into sudden, hard sobs, her shoulders shaking.

She felt how badly it startled Han; next to her, he jolted awake, mumbling swears and blinking wildly, grasping for his blaster, and then remembering where he was. He leaned down over her, his hands on the side of her face, and her hip.

"Leia?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep, panic rising in his chest. "Leia? Sweetheart?" He bent closer, his lips moving near her ear. "Shhh," he soothed. "What is it?" he asked, settling down on his side and pulling her close. "Nightmare?" he murmured.

She shook her head.

She wiped her face and her nose with the furs and turned onto her back, accepting the protection his embrace offered, and cast her eyes down, even though she could feel him looking at her.

"I didn't agonize over it," she said shakily. "I—I – It didn't sit down and work up the courage or, or, barely find myself able to go through with it, I knew that's what I was going to do, it was the only thing I considered –

"What are you talking about?" Han interrupted quietly.

She looked up at him.

"Please, Han, you know what I'm talking about," she said hoarsely.

Han reached up and rubbed his temple, forehead creasing.

"The abortion?" he mumbled warily.

" _Yes_ ," she hissed, her head spinning. "I found out I was – pregnant, and I – immediately knew what I was going to do, and I'm not saying it was easy – but that's, that's fucked up, isn't it?" she asked. "That's something sinister…it's a baby, Han, I was – supposed to want it – I didn't, I don't think I did," she gasped, "I shouldn't have had such an automatic resolve to end it."

Han looked at her a little helplessly.

"It's cold. It's something Vader would do."

Han sat up a little, his face going through a volley of emotions.

"Doesn't that make me like him?" she asked, throwing her head back – looking at the thatched roof, and almost asking it of herself.

"Leia," he barked at her, more angrily than he meant to. "What the hell are you talking about? Cold? You're upset about it!" he pointed out, his chest tightening – _more upset than you let on, Sweetheart_ , he thought, scared of what it meant for him.

"Yes, I'm upset!" she cried. "It hurt to lose you, and I was miserable going through it without you, but even if you'd been there, Han, I think I still would have," she broke off, shaking her head. "I wasn't ready!"

Han sat up, drawing one knee up and resting his arm over it. He ran his hand over his face to wipe sleep from his eyes and steady himself, alarmed at her distress, and trying to get a grip on himself – what was he supposed to feel?

He didn't feel anything, except distress over _her_ distress.

"That doesn't mean you'll never be ready," he said after a moment. "You can still have 'em, can't you?"

Leia sat up, running her hand through her hair. She twisted her fingers into it, hiding her face behind her wrist.

" _Medically_ ," she whimpered – nothing was wrong with her in that respect. "How can I possibly have a baby now that I know about – about – that bastard," she moaned shakily. "I can – I can never forget that, I can never un-know about it," she closed her eyes, tears spilling furiously down her cheeks, "so now I think, that was my last chance, I should have kept it, because I was oblivious, and I would find this out and accept it – but now I have to contend with consciously deciding to bring a thing with Vader's capabilities into the world."

Han swallowed hard, his mouth dry, throat scratch and constricted.

"I got rid of something that was inconvenient to me, and it's because – I have bad blood, and I have to live with it, and you have to live with it –

Han shook his head.

"You aren't anything like Vader, Leia – it obviously bothers you! You're hurting right now!" Han said huskily. "Why didn't you tell me how much you were hurting?"

Leia let her hand fall, and stared at him, laid bare.

"I didn't know," she said faintly. "Han, I…all I could think about was how much I wanted you. I didn't want to do that without you. I didn't know how you felt about babies. That there was an endless war and I was marked for death," she licked her lips, "but we're going to win, and you're here, and you said – that you'd help me deal with it," she said, her face crumpling again, "You said you'd stick around," she whispered, "and I feel like I killed something."

Han sat forward heavily, shaking his head slowly. He reached for her knee, grasping it tightly.

"That's irrational – "

"Don't call me irrational!"

"You can't change your mind on something you did four months ago because of what you know _now_!" Han insisted, eyes boring into hers.

"I feel violent, and soulless," Leia cried.

"You shouldn't!" Han fired back desperately. "Leia, _please_ – you were alone, you were traumatized. You didn't know if I'd end up dead or alive."

He was only reciting back what she'd said to him a few days ago, but it made sense, and he was so sorry she was feeling this way now.

"You didn't know what I wanted," he said, his shoulders falling.

Leia held the furs to her chest, bowed over in pain.

"It hurts more now, all of a sudden," she confessed shakily. "I was okay. I coped. It just had to happen – and now I feel – like I did everything wrong – I feel selfish, and sad – why does it hurt so much more now?" she asked herself softly, wiping at her face.

Han rubbed his face again and then crawled towards her, shifting things around. He pulled her towards him and into his lap, let her straddle him, her knees on either side of his thighs, furs between them and around them – he could tilt his head up at her, this way, be on eye-level.

"It doesn't make you like Vader," he said hoarsely. "It just doesn't, Sweetheart. You're too sensitive. You have too much soul in you. Someone like Vader wouldn't feel this bad."

Leia put her hands on his chest, listening. Han leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, resting his head there against her collarbone.

"Han," she asked, "Why do you act like I can't do anything wrong?"

Startling her, he laughed, huskily.

"You can!" he said into her skin, lifting his head to look at her incredulously. "I get mad at you all the time," he said stubbornly. "I'm not mad at you for this!"

She looked at him with her red eyes, and didn't believe him.

"What do you want me to do, forgive you?" he scoffed.

Leia felt like a dam had broken inside her, and she clutched at his shoulders.

"Yes," she gasped, identifying it wildly, incoherently. "I need you to forgive me."

He looked shocked, overwhelmed.

"Leia, I'm not," he shook his head, stumbling, guilty and uncomfortable. "I'm not mad," he repeated helplessly, "I don't care that you did it," he said, and then he winced, terribly, because it sounded so coarse, and awful. "I don't want you to feel like this," he tried to correct himself, his words heavy and full of his own shortcomings, "but I couldn't have – "

He squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself.

"I'm glad you're not pregnant right now."

Leia was silent. She bowed her head, and while he watched her, thinking he'd just ruined everything, made her hate him for the rest of her life – she looked up, her mouth open, lips parted slightly in a way that – almost read like a painful, six-month-long gasp of relief.

He swallowed hard, and shrugged.

"I forgive you," he said – _if that's what you need,_ _Sweetheart,_ "but I don't blame you," he said thickly.

Leia touched his neck, and his jaw softly, fingers pressing into his cheeks. She turned her head to wipe her tears on his shoulder, and seemed to relax, her weight heavy on him, but the load lifted off her shoulders.

She slid her arms around his neck and placed her head against his shoulder.

"It's like I was hollow for so long, wondering why I didn't feel devastated," she whispered, "and now I feel devastated, and I'm angry because I – I know I did the right thing, in that moment," she murmured, "but now I've lost all my innocence. I lost the luxury of asking myself if I want to have a baby," she paused, and grimaced against his skin, "now I have to ask myself if I want to…have…one with…Vader's blood."

Han ran his hands over her back, stroking her spine soothingly. He tucked his head down near hers.

" _My_ blood," he reminded her. "Yours, too."

"Doesn't it scare you?" Leia asked.

Han shrugged a little. It didn't, not really. The idea of being a _father_ terrified him completely, but who he, or she, may or may not be related to didn't really alter that for better or for worse.

Leia lifted her head a little, tilting it towards his ear.

"You don't feel like I betrayed you?"

Han sighed.

"No," he murmured. "You were alone, Leia. I don't want you to be alone with something like that."

Leia was quiet.

"Your mother was alone," she said in a small voice. "If she'd – well, then I wouldn't have you."

Han smiled a little sadly.

"Yeah, I loved my mother, Princess," he said. "I can't complain about where I ended up," he added, kissing her temple. "But that doesn't mean I want my kid growin' up like I did."

He thought, bitterly – maybe he'd have been a better man, sooner, if he'd had a father around; but that was a fluke, too, he figured; fathers could be awful things just as easily as they could be blessings. He just wanted to make sure – when the time came – that he was one of the good ones.

And on Bespin, even just before Bespin – he wasn't there yet.

Leia hugged him, drying her eyes on his shoulder. She didn't make any effort to move for a long time, and when she did, she laid back down with him beside her, taking deep breaths – perhaps she had needed to cry for a while, and perhaps she had just needed to rage about how complex it all was.

She still wasn't sure she understood herself. She knew it was a relief to hear Han say, definitively, that he didn't blame her, and that the idea of being unexpectedly a parent didn't sit right with him, either – even if there still lingered the feeling that she must be cold, and inhuman.

She tried to be calm, and she tried to pinpoint what exactly had set her off so badly now, specifically since she knew about Vader?

Han pressed his lips to her jaw, holding his arm over her waist possessively. He ran his hand over her side, and then splayed his hand over her stomach, and she didn't know, this time, if it was an absentminded, natural gesture, or if he was quietly offering to fill the empty space with his presence, and his comfort – without asking him the meaning of his touch, she closed her eyes, and let his hand rest there –

"I still love you," he mumbled gruffly.

\- she laughed quietly, closing her eyes – how any of her peers could ever look down on Han, she didn't know, but they were led astray, deluded – he was a better man on a bad day than most people she'd known in her life.

* * *

Sunrise, on Endor – sunrise, on a world without a Death Star, without Darth Vader, without an Empire to crush it, and Leia got up early to watch it happen, watch the pink and gold and orange and yellow rays burst over the horizon, through the trees – onto her face.

Brazenly on the treehouse porch, clad only in Han's shirt and her underwear, she watched the dawn, and she looked around over the little tree village, the network of families – a free society, at their fingertips, with just a fresh burst of fighting, and then it would be theirs –

"Mmm, Your Worship," Han drawled sleepily, lazily strolling out of the treehouse behind her, his voice deep and laced with that early-morning sensuality. "Hey, you might be seen. You're all exposed."

Leia took a deep breath, resting her palms on the branches that made the sturdy railing.

"Oh, who cares?" she murmured fiercely. She looked over the sleepy morning. "I don't care," she added fiercely.

Let them look up and see her half-clothed in the sunlight, with Han kissing her throat or standing near her, laying claim. She'd fought for her own freedom as much as she'd fought for anyone else's, she'd made sacrifices for it, professional and personal, and for her relationship with Han, she had sustained injuries so they could be whole in the future, _so let them see her._

Han stepped up behind her, kissing her hair, resting his chin on the crown of her head lightly. She felt him take a deep breath, and he squeezed her shoulders gently.

"Better?" he asked quietly – _is it any better, this morning, Sweetheart?_

Leia took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words. She nodded, and looked down at her hands on the wooden railing, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and his hands, for a moment of silent.

"I think I understand something," she said softly, "now."

He lifted his head and moved around to stand next to her, leaning back against the railing as she faced it. He crossed his arms and looked at her intently, patiently, his expression that sort of – unpredictable, comforting beautiful that she valued so much.

She hesitated, and then looked at him sideways.

"I was caught off guard," she began quietly, and honestly, "by how much I wanted – no," she stopped immediately, and re-worded herself: "how much I liked the idea," she said, more comfortably, "of a baby," she paused for only a split second, and then clarified, pointedly: _"your_ baby."

That was it; that was the rub – the feeling she had refused to acknowledge, stamped out and tried to destroy even when Luke asked her if she was sure she wanted to go through with it – in the middle of all that mess, and all of her certainty that that was not the right time to have baby, and she didn't know if she wanted children anyway, in the middle of all that, she'd suddenly wanted a baby _with Han_.

"I knew I couldn't do it, right then," she said softly, "and I didn't – want to, then," she said, with difficulty, because it still felt callous to admit that she just didn't want it, even if it was the truth, "but it felt like I made that one decision, and it meant it was the only decision I could ever make."

Han tilted his head up a little, thinking that over, and Leia stopped, licking her lips – she hoped she was making sense. She'd let herself think that – deciding to end that pregnancy was somehow synonymous with deciding she didn't want any pregnancy, or maybe didn't even deserve it –

"When Luke told me about Vader, I felt so repulsed by the idea of family," she whispered, "and it made me feel even worse. Like now I could never have it." She rubbed her arms lightly. "You still wanted to sleep with me even with that risk there, so I just thought you must like the idea a little, and I don't know how long it will take me to feel ready for that."

Leia sighed.

"There's so much wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Han said plainly.

"I know, I mean, I just mean that I need to be," she sighed shakily, "in a better place mentally and, ah, emotionally," she explained, "to be a mother."

Han looked at her for a while, and then he unfolded his hands, and slipped them into his pockets.

"You want to hear somethin' crazy?" he asked. He smirked a little, and tilted his head at her. "I never wanted kids. Thought you had to be stupid to want that," he said bluntly. "Ties you down, y'know?" He shook his head. "'Cept you said you got pregnant, and for a second, I thought – _well_ , _it's different_ ," he said, speaking slowly, " _'cause it's Leia's_."

Leia bit her lip, and he held up one hand, waving it gently.

"Nah, Leia, c'mon, I already told you, I'm not mad," he said, easily identifying where her head was about to go. He shrugged. "'M just sayin', I get it. I think."

Leia stepped over to him, standing in front of him and leaning into him a little. He smiled, placing one hand on her hip.

"It's, maybe," she began thoughtfully. "We might have one, later," she ventured, "it just…couldn't be… _that_ one."

Han touched her cheek gently. He nodded, and lifted one shoulder.

"Yeah, Sweetheart, I reckon that's it."

Leia dipped her head, compressing her lips. She pressed her fingertips against his chest, tapping out a rhythm, drumming lightly against his heart.

"Well, that's that," she whispered, nearly wonderstruck.

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he grinned, after a moment.

"I don't know. Think we got a couple of things to do first," he said seriously.

"Do you?" she asked softly.

"Sure," he said, dipping his head closer. "I should marry you."

Leia laughed skeptically, the sound of it swallowed in a well-timed kiss on his part. She opened her eyes wide, staring at him as his lips moved, and pushed him back. She looked at him thoughtfully, her head tilted and he just shrugged, and nodded.

"You want to marry me, Solo?" she asked lightly, almost a joke.

He held her gaze unabashedly.

"You're askin' me like it's a hard question," he said, cocking an eyebrow. Of course he did. It felt like the only thing he wanted to do, right now - after all this? He wanted Leia forever. He wanted the things that would come _later._ "Don't test me, Princess. I'd do it right here," he pointed to their feet, and jerked his chin around at the village. "I bet they got some kinda priest."

Leia looked to the side, her hands resting on his hips. He leaned forward, catching her eye, lips close to hers.

"What do you say?" he asked quietly.

Leia turned to look behind her, and looked up, at the bright sky – still smoky from battle, but warm, and gorgeous, in the dawn.

She turned back to him, and bit her lip in a smile, taking a deep breath –

\- and in the moment when she gave him her answer, she felt – not absolved, but vindicated.

* * *

**_Part 3/3_ **

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that what you thought was coming !?  
> i decided to infuse it with a little bit of original Lucas ROTJ concept, the rumor that it was supposed to end with a wedding  
> (and no, I don't care what happened in the Disney Aftermath series. I don't care at all.)
> 
> Final comments: Again, story wasn't a political statement. Wasn't even intended to resolve a major issue or answer any major emotional questions. It's just a story about a thing that happened and a choice made to deal with it. The end.
> 
> -Alexandra

**Author's Note:**

> -Alexandra
> 
> I will say I found it very irritating to tag this because I didn't want to be blatant in the tags. 
> 
>  
> 
> *this story contains no political statement. it's a story.


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